Intersections: a Battle Los Angeles story
by CJ Timm
Summary: Starting where the movie ended, the lives of the soldiers fighting to retake LA and more specifically the intersection of Staff Sergeant Mike Nantz and Michele the woman he rescued is followed as 2 lives seek peace amidst the turmoil of war's destruction
1. Chapter 1 Back to LA

Chapter 1 –Back into the fight

"Three minutes to touch down Staff Sergeant!" the helicopter loadmaster yelled over the roar of the machine's churning blades to the steely eyed Marine who sat beside him scanning the city below him from the rear ramp of the CH46 Sea King.

"Roger that," the soldier acknowledged then turned to his men, "Three minutes people, tighten it up."

The Marines in the helicopter began to adjust buckles on packs, helmets, ammo carriers, basically anything that could slip or move for the dozenth time. So began the ritual soldiers had been doing for hundreds of years, the deep breath before the plunge.

Staff Sergeant Mike Nantz took it all in hardly able to believe he was in this situation. Seventy-two hours before he'd submitted his papers for retirement, sure it was time to move on and try to deal with the ghosts of his past that haunted him. Now the future not only seemed pretty uncertain, he wasn't even sure if Camp Pendleton where his paperwork had been submitted stood any more. He wondered if his friend First Sergeant John Roy had survived.

He'd tried to keep those thoughts out of his mind as he absently ran a finger through the cleft of his granite chin, to lock them away in a place to go later. But Mike Nantz was human, not a machine, despite the image the United States Marine Corp tried to project. His thoughts drifted to those who'd fallen: Martinez, Stavro, Mattola, Mr. Rincon…at the thought of the Hispanic man who'd been shot trying to help out during the fight on the freeway his mind gravitated towards the others, Hector, the girls and Michele. He lingered on her, remembering their touch before he roped down from the helicopter, sure he'd die and suddenly sad that he'd not see her again. Her scream as he left the chopper echoed in his mind. With everything going on why was the fact he hadn't seen her before they'd left concern him the most? Why after everything he'd gone through in the woman-department the last few years did he continue to think about Michele?

There, he'd named her even, she wasn't just _a_ woman, or _the_ woman, she was Michele. He cursed at himself for feeling this way, something he'd sworn he'd never do again. Hector was one thing; he was a kid, that didn't count, but Michele, that presented a problem. Maybe he'd die today and not have to worry about it. Happy thoughts!

"Thirty seconds!"

The helicopter's engines whined as the power surged preparing to land as fast as possible to avoid any potential enemy fire.

Mike had to put that thought away, despite his desire to linger on her face and features: the flowing dark hair, rough and tumble he'd heard some of the young guys describe, the smile, then there were her deep, dark eyes that held a depth of emotion within. A familiar churn of emotion and adrenaline began to build in his stomach, nervous energy, fear.

No time for that right now.

It's said that those who go into combat and aren't afraid are either lying or crazy. He was neither, he was scared, with the same fear everyone else on the helicopter endured. Nervous energy surged through the Sea King. They were going back into Los Angeles to attempt to re-establish a beachhead to retake the city. With the destruction of the alien command-and-control station the invaders had lost their air support plus it seemed their ability to co-ordinate their activities evening the odds a bit. But the fight was still going to be hard and costly.

Mike wondered again if he'd made a mistake going in so soon. Maybe they should have rested a bit, debriefed, but the adrenaline of the moment had him gathering ammo and going back in when he saw the Marines at the new base moving out. The others had instinctively followed. The wound he'd taken fighting against the drone the previous day began to hurt again. Even worse, he felt light-headed.

No time for that either.

The Marine helicopter powered up to land, bumping to an abrupt halt on the edge of the runway near a hanger whose roof was half collapsed at the Whiteman Airport in San Fernando. This was where the human forces would begin their campaign to retake what had been abandoned earlier. What had seemed impossible had become a reality thanks to the efforts of Nantz and his team.

The sound of explosions and light weapon fire on the edge of the airport property greeted the arrival of the newly minted heroes of Los Angeles. Despite the steady chop-chop sound of helicopters taking off and landing the sound of the reality of the war they faced greeted the Marines.

There was no time to think about what had just happened the battle to re-take Los Angeles was underway.

As the chopper touched down Marines simultaneously leaped out trotting over to a command post set up in an intact hanger. Groups were quickly being put together then sent into battle. Soldiers from a dozen helicopters formed up in a semi-circle around an easel with a large tactical map of the area. A Marine major waited impatiently for all the newly arrived troops to be sorted out so he could brief them on the situation then send them to join in the fight. He had a field dressing on the left side of his face with burn marks evident around the edges of it but his eyes were clear as a blue sky. He spotted the Staff Sergeant in the crowd.

"Nantz, what are you doing here?" he asked brusquely.

"Getting back in the fight sir," Mike responded, recognizing the officer who was from the 2-5.

"Outstanding," the major affirmed with a nod of his head. Turning his attention immediately to the rest he began to brief them. "Okay, you men will form a battle group under Lt. Sanford here. We're attempting to push the aliens away from the airport to use it as a staging area for our operations. We now hold it so we're moving into the next phase. Men, help is coming," he declared to encourage the troops. "The 221st Cavalry Regiment from the Nevada National Guard is on the way and will be here in a few hours."

"Tanks from Nevada sir?" Lt. Sanford asked sarcastically.

"M1A1 ABRAMS tanks from Nevada," the major responded testily. "Listen up, most of our assets in California have been either destroyed or lost. So we've got units that have been mobilized from other states and are being moved here to join the fight as fast as they can. We're not in this fight alone." He then fixed the marine lieutenant with a withering look then added, "We're lucky we can get them or we'd be screwed."

Satisfied there'd be no more interruptions the bald officer continued, "They're being trucked in on the Golden State Freeway. They've got good air cover from an attack helicopter battalion from the Arizona National Guard", he looked hard at Lt. Sanford who avoided the pointed gaze, "but we need to secure an off-ramp for from the freeway and provide a safe corridor for them to get here and get in the fight." Pointing to a street on the tactical map he declared, "Our job is to provide it along Osborne Street here so we're going to take and hold this road so they can get here."

The major allowed the men to look over the map and get their bearings before he continued. "Now there are aliens in the neighborhood. We don't know how many though. Fortunately we didn't have too hard a fight for the airport but as you can hear, we're not alone," as if too emphasize the point a large explosion on the edge of the airport erupted. "We have a couple of gunships providing air support but for the most part we're on our own. Remember, fire to the right of where their hearts would be if they had one, that's the weakest part of their armor." He gave a nod of acknowledgement to Staff Sergeant Nantz for it had been his efforts during their rescue mission that had provided this vital information.

For his part, Mike was happy to see it had filtered out already. So much happening in so little time. He couldn't believe how his life had changed in less then a week. But there was no time for such musings; again he would be leading people into combat.

"Questions?" the major asked rhetorically not expecting any. Everyone there knew what needed to be done and the sense of urgency that went with it. "Get it done Marines. Retreat…"

"Hell!" the other Marines erupted.

Lt. Sanford led the composite combat team out of the airport and onto Osborne Street. Besides those that had come with Staff Sergeant Nantz there were another three dozen Marines from several other units. A real dog's breakfast.

Passing the intersection of San Fernando Road the bodies of several soldiers brought the reality of what they were up against to the forefront. Looking down the road abandoned vehicles and several civilian bodies amplified the point.

It was very quiet, not a sound could be heard. The sun beat down adding to the humidity of the August day. None noticed the heat though. The grim sights before them and difficult task at hand kept their focus. To their left the charred remnants of what appeared to be a police station continued to smoke. On the right some form of auto shop stood untouched but empty. Nothing moved though the Marines had difficulty seeing through smoke from something burning outside of their sight.

"Okay, we need to clear the road. First two teams provide cover, the rest get those vehicles and bodies out of the way," Lt. Sanford ordered, taking the opportunity of the break to remove his helmet and run a hand through his sweaty close-cropped blond hair.

Corporal Lee Imlay and Corporal Kevin Harris, both survivors along with Staff Sergeant Nantz of the mission to destroy the enemy command-and-control ship, looked at the officer nervously as the others prepared to carry out the assignment.

"Sir, we might want to rethink this course of action," Mike responded politely.

"We have to get the way clear for those tanks Staff Sergeant. We have our orders," the young officer countered.

"I agree but their carriers are big enough to push through this stuff no problem," the NCO stated. Then pointing to several more dead Marines lying beside the closest group of vehicles he added, "Besides, look at them. What do you think they were doing? We know the aliens are still around. It looks to me like they're waiting for us and we know they love ambushes. Better we get off the street and go property to property."

Sanford opened his mouth to rebut the statement but checked it as the logic of the staff sergeant's suggestion sunk in. He grabbed his radio to give new orders.

"You might not want to use that either sir," Mike offered, putting his hand on the unit to stop the action. "They can trace us using our comms. Voice and hand signals are best."

The tension of the moment caused the young officer to snap. "Listen, I know you've had some experience with these things but I've been in the fight too. This is my command. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Mike responded evenly. But he fixed the crew-cutted officer with a steely gaze. "Let's get going, we don't have a lot of time."

Corporal James Lockett, yet another member of the original team, sighed audibly and shook his head but kept his thoughts to himself.

Lt. Sanford broke the group into two teams. He led one, Mike the other and they split to each side of the road cautiously beginning to probe forward.

"Lockett, Harris, point," Mike ordered. "Watch the roofs."

Moving carefully forward, weapons covering all possible points of ambush, they cleared the first block and crossed into a residential area.

"We've got to push back to the next street," Mike observed, "give the convoy a bit of a buffer zone. We go house to house from here."

He halted the advance and looked to see if Lt. Sanford had caught what they were doing. The officer continued to timidly push forward oblivious to what the other part of his battle group was doing. Mike swore softly to himself. Having the others hold their position the sergeant ran across the road to share the thought with Sanford. The officer agreed to the logic of the observation so arrayed his force the same way.

Returning to his section and resuming the steady advance, Mike felt a bead of sweat run down his back. His combat instinct was going off the chart as his heart rate increased.

He knew they were being watched, so the exercise became not a matter of if but when. Looking back Mike could see other Marines following their line of advance from the airport. He knew they weren't alone but it was small comfort since they were first in line.

Putting that out of his head, Mike focused on the front and task of moving to secure the off-ramp two and a half blocks away. If he were driving his Mustang it would take him about 30 seconds to get there, a minute and a half if he caught a light, but now he wondered if the two hours they had would be enough time.

Moving forward the combat team cleared the first house and then the second. Everyone could feel the tension, it hung thick enough to cut.

Approaching the third house on the block the distinct sound of an alien grenade launcher spooling up suddenly could be heard high and off to the right.

"Incoming!" Lockett yelled.

The others responded instinctively. All but one young marine moved and hit the ground, guns ready.

As the alien with the launcher came into view on the edge of the roof next door to fire Harris shot first, shredding it with his M249 Squad Automatic Weapon. The creature went down firing its grenades harmlessly into the air.

The alien ambush tactic had become predictable to the experienced Marines who had witnessed them using similar methods before.

Another of the 8 foot tall creatures came from around a fence on the other side of the building loosing a burst of its arm-mounted machine gun into the frozen soldier. The man crumpled to the ground.

"Doc, check him out," Mike ordered as he squeezed off three rounds from his M4A1 carbine hitting the alien in the center of the chest causing it to spin around.

Corpsman Jibril 'Doc' Adukwu ran to the fallen Marine, despite the increasing fire around him to look for life.

Several other aliens appeared out of hiding spots to engage the marines. At the same time bursts of six-barreled machine fire ripped from the roof of the police station on the other side of the street they'd passed.

"They're behind us too!" Tech Sergeant Elena Santos screamed as she swiveled her M16 around to return fire.

"Santos, take two guys with you and clear out those snipers," Mike ordered, "we need to keep pressing forward. Rally at the next property."

The Latino Air Force observer, who had shown herself to be a pretty good infanteer, grabbed a pair of the new Marines by his web gear and hauled him into a position to eliminate the threat. Mike knew their rear was safe with her out there.

"Staff Sergeant, he's dead," Doc yelled in his heavy African accent to Mike, confirming what he'd already expected about the young soldier who'd been caught in the initial attack.

"Okay, grab your rifle and get into the fight," he countered.

Aliens poured out of both sides of the home, weapons blazing, trying to catch the Marines in a pincer move that would grind them up. Fortunately for the humans with the tactic becoming predictable the experienced soldiers in the battle group responded right away. Imlay pumped two grenades from his M203 launcher into one group. The _whump, whump _of the explosions and flying alien body parts showed that group's momentum had been stopped. The steady fire on the other flank from Lockett and Harris held the other ones in check. Tracer rounds flew back and forth like angry fireflies looking for a place to land. Another of the new Marines went down under a barrage of fire from an alien machine gun. Despite the volume of fire Doc Adukwu went to the young soldier dragging him to safety and miraculously not getting hit in the process.

The alien's progress checked, Mike rallied his men. Leading the way, M4A1 carbine blazing, they counterattacked pushing the invaders back. One backpedaling alien crashed into a greenhouse in the backyard of the property that quickly became a shower of thousands of pieces of glass when a high explosive grenade was thrown in.

The remainder of the ambushers turned and ran as fast as they could on their spindly legs due to the ferocity of the counter attack. But at over 8 feet tall they made great targets and several more had their cylindrical heads blown off.

Then Mike saw what he was looking for. Attempting to sneak away in the shadows was the leader of the group. Unfortunately, in its panic it bumped it's head on the lower slope of the house's sun porch giving it away.

"There," Mike yelled, "officer caste. Don't let him get away!"

At close quarters and standing nearly 9 1/2 feet tall it became too hard to miss. Despite its four mechanical legs the alien never had a chance.

All the weapons of the Marines turned on it blasting the officer into bits and pieces.

With the other aliens totally on the run, Lockett along with several of the other Marines kept up the chase, firing and moving.

"No, no, hold up, hold up," Mike yelled, effectively halting the advance and allowing the few remaining aliens to break contact and escape.

Lockett fell back to the rally point but the hot-headed African-American turned to confront his Sergeant, eyes blazing. But the sound of battle to their left checked the corporal's angry words. There was more going on here then their own personal scores to settle. The remnant of their platoon was under attack and they seemed to be fairing badly. If Lockett had continued like he'd wanted, their whole section would have run the risk of being cut off. He kicked the ground in anger at himself.

"Imlay, Lockett, with me. We're going to go and help the Lieutenant," Mike ordered, rather then speak to what had just happened. He figured the corporal had learned his lesson so didn't need to rub it in. "Harris, you're in charge. Hold here and wait for Santos to catch up. Doc, look after the wounded."

Knowing his orders would be carried out instantly Mike sprinted off with the other two men to try to help the beleaguered Marines who seemed to be getting pounded on the other side of the street. The same ambush tactic had been attempted by the aliens but this time with success. The promised air support hadn't arrived so they were on their own.

Moving forward, the three saw more infantry caste aliens taking up position, threatening to turn their flank. If that happened the forward momentum of the Marines would not only be checked but they could be broken and forced all the way back to the airport.

As time ticked on it seemed less and less likely that they would be able to open the vital road that the tanks needed to properly deploy. The whole offensive could collapse before it began.


	2. Chapter 2 clear sailing

**Chapter 2- Clear sailing**

Moving into an arrowhead formation, Mike at the point, the three dashed across the street to provide support for the remnant of the beleaguered Marine platoon. Luck seemed to be with them because thus far none of the attacking enemy seemed to notice the trio's approach.

Sprinting into range the Marines opened fire. The steady _pop pop pop_ of 5.56mm full metal jacket slugs got the aliens attention as their flank began to be shredded by the reinforcements. High pitched chirping rose from an officer caste alien who seemed to be directing the attack. The leader of the ambush had a group break off to meet the new threat.

Mike had hoped they'd do that.

Guns blazing, his group split the two like a wedge as they went in hard and fast. That took pressure off the trapped Marines, allowing them to regroup while simultaneously throwing the aliens off balance.

Imlay loosed a round from his M203 grenade launcher and the explosion seemed to freeze the aliens for a moment. Mike and Lockett concentrated their fire on the officer who bobbed and juked his way to avoid the withering fire. The result was the invader's offensive ground to a standstill.

"Come on Marines, get up and fight!" Mike yelled to the hiding men, not even aware he'd done it to encourage the beleaguered soldiers to take the initiative. The challenge worked.

First a large, bald Marine let out a rebel yell then charged forward his M4 firing on full automatic. Though he emptied his clip in seconds the rate of fire stunned the aliens who had thought they were shooting fish in a barrel. One by one other Marines emerged from hiding and began to fight back.

The overconfident invaders hadn't expected a counter attack so they'd overextended themselves and now paid for it. Now exposed, they started being picked off, their size making them easy targets. Despite the momentum shift, the aliens had superior firepower so were able to hold their own. The fight remained far from over.

Mike, with Imlay and Lockett flanking him, rallied a number of Marines and began to push the remnant of the aliens away from Osborne Street. He turned to get his men to extend their line when a fresh batch of creatures appeared from the back yard of the house next door.

Caught in the open Mike cringed but kept moving as a staccato burst of machine gun fire erupted from the surgically-implanted weapon on the lead alien's arm. One round found its mark penetrating into his side, punching through his tactical vest. The force nearly knocked him to his knees. Though it felt like he'd been kicked by a mule the momentum and adrenalin pumping meant he only stumbled and didn't stop.

Still, the sheer volume of the alien reinforcements checked the Marine's progress and they were forced to find cover or risk being torn to pieces. The air sizzled with munitions flying through it. The attackers sensed the new shift so pressed in for the kill, sacrificing bodies for space. It was a matter of simple mathematics. There was way more of them than humans and both sides knew it.

A new officer caste alien directed the attack with great precision. It swiftly reorganized the various cadres pressing their attack sending the Marines back on their heels. Chirping in its strange language and flailing long tentacle like arms around for emphasis the aliens the officer directed came down like a hammer. Suddenly a loud _crack_ like that from a Barrett .50caliber sniper rifle rent the air and its mushroom-shape head exploded. Before the echo died down the dull rhythmic staccato of an M240 General Purpose Machine Gun opened up. Rounds flew through the air like angry hornets kicking up little puffs of dust in the ground when it missed but more often then not sending aliens it hit in spasmodic contortions.

Mike involuntarily turned to see where the extra support had come from, saying a quick prayer of thanks, and saw their help was originating from the roof of the police station behind him, the same roof he'd had Tech Sergeant Santos clear. He looked closer and could see her standing tall up top on the roof with the fire support teams whooping it up and pumping her fist. He could have kissed her. Never again would he say a bad thing about the Air Force.

The overwhelming Marine firepower not only checked the alien attack but sent them into a full scale retreat to get away from the dangerous salvo. Unlike the section on the other side of the street, the soldiers here didn't pursue but rather slumped down to catch their breath and steady their nerves. In truth, there weren't many left still standing.

"Where's Lieutenant Sanford?" Mike asked a Latino Marine, with shrapnel wound in the neck, once the area had been secured.

"He's dead Staff Sergeant," the man replied, his voice heavy with fatigue.

"Who was in charge then?"

"Me, Corporal Gomez," the marine stated humbly.

"You did a good job getting them into a solid defensive position," Mike tried to encourage the young soldier, "you saved the day."

"No, it was you coming to our rescue. We were screwed. They totally got the drop on us. Another couple of minutes and we'd have been toast."

A fresh platoon of Marines moved through their position then advanced down the street, taking over for the remnant of the shattered lead group. A captain leading the way, who Mike recognized as an officer named Harvel from his original company in the 2-5, overhead the conversation so stopped to comment. He remembered the guy had been a pretty avid triathlete. He'd not likely get a chance to do that anytime soon.

"Yea, outstanding job Staff Sergeant," Captain Harvel added. "We saw your move from the rear. Gutsy call."

"Well, it was Tech Sergeant Santos getting that fire team up on the roof that saved our bacon, sir." Mike countered humbly, uncomfortable with the attention. He'd not thought, he'd only reacted.

"Anyways, good job holding the line," the square-jawed captain commented, not really interested in a debate on who did what. "We've got more troops on the way and we're pressing on down to the interchange. I'm not sure what happened to our damn air support. I think the choppers must have gotten knocked out of the sky so we may be on our own. So reform what left of your platoon and rejoin the column. We don't have a lot of time before the tanks show."

With that he marched off, barking orders to the men around him.

The momentum gone, Mike suddenly felt very tired. He put his hands on his thighs and began to try to control his breathing but every time his lungs expanded a knife of burning pain shot up his side.

Imlay and Lockett rejoined the Staff Sergeant with the remnant of the platoon. Lockett noticed Mike's obvious discomfort and looked at him carefully.

"Man, you're wounded," he observed, seeing the growing dark stain low on the side on Mike's combat utility jacket. "Doc," he yelled to the other side of the street. "Get over here, the Staff Sergeant's wounded."

"I'm fine," Mike grunted, pushing away Imlay's arm as he tried to hold him steady. "We don't have time for this. Anyone who can walk, grab all the ammo you can. We're pushing on."

Doc Adukwu trotted over but stopped in his tracks at a withering look from Mike. "But you are wounded, you should go to the casualty collection point," he dared to state in his heavy African accent."

Mike ignored the comment as he slotted a fresh magazine into his M4. Looking around to ensure he knew how many men were left, with a wave of his arm he signaled the remnant of Lieutenant Sanford's platoon to move out.

After the frenzy of the battle things got very quiet very quickly. Other then the sound of combat boots thudding on the ground no other sound could be heard. Then a wren sang out from a tree branch overhead, totally oblivious to the carnage all around it as it happily warbled on. Mike had to admire the bird for its blissful ignorance. If only life could be that easy.

With several hundred Marines now deployed and moving towards the target area the pace could pick up. Marching forward in two columns, one on either side of the road a section would peal off to secure the properties to the side all the way to the next block over. More soldiers kept arriving to fill in those who now kept the flank safe forming one long corridor to the airport. All that remained was to get to the off-ramp and hold it.

They Marines passed Telfair Avenue without any sign of the aliens. Some began to hope that they'd broken the back of any resistance and it would be clear all the way to the interstate. Mike Nantz was not one of those optimists. He knew the attackers wouldn't give up that easily. Though grotesque in appearance they were intelligent and knew how to fight. No, this was far from over.

To emphasize the point, a car alarm went off somewhere directly to the front. Everyone dropped into defensive positions, covering every possible angle. For several tense seconds no one moved. Then Captain Harvel's voice could be heard shouting for everyone to get up and keep moving. They continued, although more cautiously, the car alarm continuing to echo in the quiet of the day.

The column moved past Haddon Avenue so could just see the highway on the horizon. Maybe they would make it in time after all. But just past the cross street they found the car with the alarm still blaring. A dark blue Pontiac G6 sat in the driveway of a home with several garden gnomes on the clipped lawn. What got everyone's attention was the fresh dent in the side of the car, as if something long and narrow had smashed into it in haste. No, the aliens were still around.

At the next cross street Captain Harvel called a halt so the Marines fanned out. The Golden State Freeway could clearly be seen now. As with most of the other roads the once busy highway was littered with abandoned and burned out vehicles. It seemed the original fight for Los Angeles had made it all the way to San Fernando too.

Now near the front of the column, Mike and his team saw a Marine lance corporal come trotting up to them.

"Staff Sergeant Nantz, Captain Harvel would like you and your team up on his position," the soldier ordered. "Follow me."

The officer gazed through a set of binoculars behind a minivan on the east side of the street as the fire team moved up. He then sat down and fished a tactical map out to assess the situation.

As Mike pulled up to a halt he instinctively surveyed the area and was startled to see the name of the street on the opposite side of where they were: Rincon Avenue. His mind went immediately to Hector, wondering how he was, to the young boy's father Joe and how the man had died despite everything Mike had done to try to get him to safety, then it drifted to Michele and the look on her face the last time he saw her.

"Did you catch that Staff Sergeant?" Captain Harvel growled, shaking Mike from the distraction of his chain of thought.

"Sorry sir," Mike apologized, embarrassed that he let his mind drift but suddenly feeling very woozy.

"I said, this is a perfect place for these things to make a stand. We're coming into a commercial area which means there's a lot of killing ground for them."

"Recce the area?"

"We don't have a lot of time but I also don't want to go in blind," the captain responded, wiping sweat from his brow. "Got anyone in mind?"

"Lockett, Imlay," Mike ordered. "Move up to the next avenue and get eyes on the area around the off-ramp. Find out if there are any bad guys around." As the pair began to move out, he added, "Harris, you go along. Give them some backup fire power. Just a sneak and peak guys, don't get yourself engaged."

Mike hated sending the guys out into potential harm without backup. They'd been through so much together but for something as important as this he also couldn't think of anyone more qualified. As he watched them inch their way to the next intersection he found himself starting to pray, something he hadn't done in a long time. He hoped God hadn't forgotten about him.

The trio hadn't been gone more then ten minutes when the sound of alien fire erupted to the front. Everyone tensed then got into a good defensive position to receive an attack. All that happened though was the three Marines on reconnaissance came running back as if they were in the LA Marathon.

Captain Harvel lowered his M4 after be certain nothing had followed the trio. "So, what did you find?" he asked as they trotted up to him to make their report.

"There's a bunch of them there sir," Imlay replied, sucking in breath to try to get his heart rate down. The combination of heat, anxiety and the run had caused him to begin to breathe in gasps. "The first strip mall to the right is clear, nothing there. We got up to a pizza place on the left at the intersection. There's a Target store across the street. The place is crawling with them. We saw at least a dozen on the roof and more in the parking lot. On the other side there's another strip mall then a Chinese restaurant next to it. We saw a bunch there too but we couldn't get a count because they saw us and opened fire."

"Did you see any heavy weapons?" Mike interjected.

"No, nothing in view anyway," Lockett added, pulling out his canteen to get a drink. "It just seemed to be the regular infantry types."

"All right, good job men," Harvel commented. "Rejoin your squad and get ready to move."

"So they've got a defensive line set up just before the off-ramp," Mike observed. "You think they know what's coming down the interstate?"

"I don't know," the officer responded, his mind clicking off possibilities. "Maybe. It doesn't matter. We need to clear them out and do it fast."

A small group of officers and senior NCO's had gathered, knowing this was the end of the line so waited to see what their leader would do.

"How do you want to play it, sir?" Mike asked for the group.

Harvel didn't respond immediately. Instead he took a hard look back at the gathered force he had, as if assessing the assets he possessed, then looked again to his front, making mental calculations then studied his tactical map of the area one last time.

"Okay, we got two 60mm mortars which is good news. We set up a fire base behind the pizza shop as well as our casualty collection point. Three GPMG's cover our front with sweeping fire. All will hammer the roof of the Target to clear it. A blocking force will hold up at the strip mall and give suppressing fire on the Chinese restaurant and surrounding. The main force will take this alley to the left," he pointed to the location on the map, "then come down fast and hard on the Target through this tree line. It should give some cover until we get to the street then fire teams break and engage as the aliens show themselves. We consolidate then push back across Osborne. Any questions?"

"What about air support?" Mike asked, "Weren't we supposed to have Apaches for cover?"

"We were and we don't," Captain Harvel responded brusquely. "Any other questions?"

Great, Mike thought, so much for their promised help. Once again they were going into the deep stuff with only their charm to recommend them. But then that's war he thought, improvise, adapt, overcome.

There were no other questions of course. Considering what they had to work with, it was a good plan, well thought out and practical. More importantly, the group felt a growing confidence that they could pull it off despite the lack of helicopters.

"Okay, we move in five minutes."

It was time for the rubber to hit the road and like their brethren in the past, the 2-5 Marines were about to begin a desperate assault with huge consequences.


	3. Chapter 3 Musings

**Chapter 3 ****– musings**

Michele thought about him again. She'd tried not to but it had become almost instinctive now. Something didn't sit right with her. She'd wanted to say something to him, talk about what she was feeling, before he'd roped out of the helicopter but the situation hadn't been right. Something had been stirring within her beyond the adrenaline of the previous 48 hours. But the chaos of the battle at the bridge, trying to find cover from the bombing that never happened then the race from the wreckage of Santa Monica Airport to the extraction point had never provided an opportunity for her to articulate her thoughts let alone speak to the tall, rugged Marine named Mike Nantz.

Then she'd heard that he and his team had done the impossible: they'd not only destroyed the alien command and control center in LA but had lived through it. Her heart sang at the news. She felt an elation that still brought her to tears which she couldn't quite explain either.

The vivacious, attractive woman had made sure her young charges, nieces Kirsten and Amy, and now young Hector Rincon, were looked after before she made her way to the base to find him from the refugee encampment next door. Guards at the complex had told her once she explained who she was that the heroes of the hour had landed and were in the mess area getting food and resting.

Michele couldn't help it but she began to run then started to giggle as she saw a cluster of Marines. The sophisticated woman felt like a school girl again, giddy, heart pounding. Maybe it was the stress of all she'd been through the past few days, but she hoped something else had taken over.

It would be like one of those scenes in the movies that she used to loath, she'd call his name, he'd turn, his face would light up in recognition and then…

The group was in ear shot. She knew he was there, though his back was to her in the group. She knew.

"Mike!" Michele called out, anticipation thick in her voice.

The Marines stopped their conversation and turned to stare at the running woman. 'He' turned but it wasn't him, stopping her dead in her tracks.

"Can we help you ma'am?" a tall Marine officer with salt and pepper hair wearing a Lt. Colonel's silver oak leaf on his tactical vest asked with a note of irritation.

"Sir, she's one of the refugees from the police station," another officer tried to explain quietly.

The lights of realization went on for Lt. Colonel Ritchie and his disposition changed. "Sorry about that, you just caught me off guard," he explained. "What can I do for you?"

"Umh," Michele hesitated, her face turning red with embarassment, "is it possible to speak to Staff Sergeant Nantz, just for a few minutes please? I never really got a chance to thank him for saving my life."

"I'm sorry," the commanding officer responded with a genuinely pained expression on his face, "he and his team went back in to LA on a mission about ten minutes ago."

Gone.

Ten minutes, she'd missed him by ten minutes.

It seemed to be the story of her life. A day late and a dollar short.

Suddenly Michele felt light headed and her knees began to wobble. Lt. Colonel Ritchie called over a female Marine who led the dazed woman away. The officers then returned to their conversation though none made eye contact with each other. The cost of this war had just ratcheted up one more notch.

For Michele Trantor this seemed to be yet another frustrating chapter in a mostly frustrating life. She was the one who was supposed to make a mark in life, not her sister. She was the one to leave the family home in Nebraska while her sister stayed. She left for the glamour of California. She had become a professional, a veternarian who worked on the pets of the stars.

On the surface Michele had it all: success, looks, money, yet there was an emptiness to her life, something seemed to be missing, something she'd never quite been able to put her finger on. She'd tried, God knows she'd tried everything possible to find peace and contentment. But nothing had worked.

Her sister had not strayed far from home, married a guy she'd known for years and had two beautiful children. Michele had a string of failed relationships.

Yes, a day late and a dollar short. It seemed like a life of stalemate.

She'd resented her sister for a long time then finally just gave up and tried to find solace in being Aunt Michele. This was supposed to be a special two weeks for her and the girls while her sister and brother-in-law travelled.

Then the aliens attacked.

Michele had been fixing the girls grilled cheese sandwiches when the news roke on CNN. The first mistake had been packing too much stuff into her SUV to take along. By the time they'd gotten on the road the aliens had cut off their escape to the evacuation zone so they'd ended up at a police station. When she arrived there were several dozen people hunkered down and a good number of police officers to protect them. A call then had gone out to the military to get them out.

It didn't quite work out as planned.

By the time the Marine patrol arrived there were only five of them left. She didn't want to remember what had happened to the others. When the grotesquely shaped monsters attacked the police hadn't stood a chance. The rest of the civilians tried to run for it with the remaining police.

They hadn't made it past the parking lot.

One officer had stayed with them. When he went down Michele, Hector and the kids stayed hidden so had not been found.

When the Marines arrived, no when Mike and the Marines arrived, she thought she might actually live. Mike looked like a square-jawed angel to her and she wasn't sure she'd seen anyone more handsome. The stress of the situation had amplified her feelings to be sure but she also knew he was a guy she would have noticed in more normal circumstances.

_Yea, notice and __then dismiss as not worth it,_ she chastised herself immediately.

That had been a problem of hers, arrogance and an inflated sense of self worth. But much had changed. She also had the opportunity to watch him closely, how he treated his men and more importantly how he looked after the civilians. To many in the Marine detail the refugees seemed like a burden, especially when the helicopter filled with their wounded comrades had been shot down.

But never with Mike Nantz.

He was attentive and even took the time to help calm young Hector down when he'd been scared. Every time he looked at the young boy the sergeant had a strange look in his eye which made him even more attractive for some reason.

Then they had worked together dissecting a captured alien. It hadn't been much of a first date but it was a start. Despite the feverish pace to find a way to kill these monsters they'd connected and even had a moment of levity. There had definitely been something between them.

No, he was pretty attractive to her, hot in fact, as her young assistants at the clinic would have put it.

Yes, there had been something there between them, despite all the chaos, a connection that stayed every step of the way right up to when he'd given her the letter for Lt. Martinez's wife in the helicopter. She'd wanted to say something, tell him how she felt, even spontaneously kiss him, especially when he held her hand after giving her the note but she'd frozen.

A day late and a dollar short again.

Despite what seemed to be yet another setback, much had changed in the past few days for Michele Trantor. Their lives had intersected for a purpose and she was determined to do something about it even if a war raged around them. But there was more, it was time to become an asset, not a liability.


	4. Chapter 4 Out of gas

**Chapter 4 – out of gas**

The Marine column pushed up quickly to the pizza shop that would be their base of operations. Time had become a bit scarce so they had no time to be cute with their movement. The defenders of LA were getting into the red zone and needed to push the ball across the line.

While the aliens responded with some intermittent fire as the soldiers came into view of Laurel Canyon Boulevard, it proved to be more annoying then threatening. With Marines providing cover, the machine guns and mortars got set up and ready to roll. The blocking force prepared to move as did the main assault force. Tension built like a coiled spring waiting to be unleashed. All knew that their hope for the recapture of LA, no, not just LA, THEIR city, likely hinged on the next few minutes.

With a signal from Captain Harvel the fire support group opened up. Two whumps from the mortars led the way followed by the low guttural chatter of the GPMG's. To more whumps from the mortar tubes followed before the first two rounds exploded. Spotters recalibrated before they found their mark. Zeroed in, the deadly weapons rained destruction onto the enemy position.

Captain Harvel waited patiently for several minutes seeming to enjoy the chance for payback on the pinned-down aliens. The timing had to be perfect so the officer didn't allow any personal satisfaction to get in the way of the job at hand. Satisfied the time was right the Captain sent the blocking force sprinting across Osborne to their position. The aliens managed some sporadic and uncoordinated fire, seeming to be caught off guard by the voraciousness of the mortar and machine gun fire so all were able to get across and into position before any could be hit. Harvel waited several more minutes for attention to be diverted to that area then he sent the main force down the alley hidden from view and through a townhouse complex that provided cover from view. If everything came off right this was going to ruin some alien officer's whole day.

Mike and his team found themselves on the point of the assaulting force moving swiftly but carefully through the cover the trees afforded. Familiar ground to them, he thought. A few more seconds and they'd be to the road and it would be game on.

Heart pounding his breathing started to become labored. He could feel blood trickling down his side from the wound Doc had quickly patched up. Or was it sweat? Likely both. Mike could hear the sound of battle to his right, the crump of the mortars, chatter of machine guns and the whiz of alien return fire. So far no one seemed to have noticed their movement so they'd have a bit of surprise. He hoped it would be more than a bit.

The foliage began to thin out as the Marines moved steadily to the street to their front. Mike held up his hand in the signal to halt. He wanted to make sure everyone was up before they attacked. A quick shoulder check and he knew they were good to go. Taking one deep breathe, he closed his eyes to prep for what lay ahead.

It was time.

"Go! Go! Go!" he yelled, more from adrenaline then a need to give the command as the others sprung into action behind him.

Sprinting through the trees, over the sidewalk and onto Laurel Creek Boulevard the soldiers burst into the open. Four lanes wide suddenly seemed like an awfully long way.

The Marines held their fire, focusing on moving as fast as they could. This was not like a Hollywood movie where the good guys came out guns blazing. They waited for targets to indentify themselves and concentrated on moving to the parking lot of the Target where there were cars that could be used for cover.

They didn't have to wait long to find something to shoot back at.

Though initially surprised by the quick attack from an unexpected side the aliens responded to the new threat bringing machine gun and rocket fire to bear on the charging Marines.

Combat had always been a strange combination of experiences for Mike Nantz. He, like many soldiers, called it his 'spidey-sense'. Everything seemed to go super fast and yet also moved super slow. Psychologists say that one's senses are heightened in times of high stress and our remarkably designed bodies respond in kind. So while everything seemed to be going by in fast forward, like watching a DVD on rapid advance, everything was crystal clear for Mike. He saw it all: the alien that popped up in the parking lot to the right only to be shredded by a SAW, one on the roof to the front who was blown off like a stunt man by the exploding round of a mortar, all came in pure, high definition clarity.

Yet he couldn't hear anything. So much noise and confusion swirled around Mike yet he heard nothing as he sprinted across the road then into the parking lot. He didn't hear himself screaming manically in the face of the enemy return fire, he didn't hear the orders he automatically gave to those around him, he didn't hear the sound of his M4 firing steadily, he didn't hear the sound of men getting hit around him.

He was focused.

Next thing Mike knew, he stood under the overhang of the store near one of the entrances gasping for breath. He looked around and did a quick head count, pleased by the number of men who made it, including all of his.

_Good_, he thought, these guys were beginning to become pretty special to him. He noticed the mortars had shifted their fire from the Target to the strip mall across the street to eliminate the threat of friendly fire. It was now time for them to start to do their job.

A Marine Lieutenant who'd come up with them now started getting the troops organized. Mike recognized him by the shock of blond hair that hung jauntily out the front of his helmet, quite uncharacteristic for a Marine. Surfer Dude he'd been called because of his love of the sport. But Mike also knew him to be a solid officer, a bit of an anomaly, even for the Marines but the right guy for the job.

"Staff Sergeant, take four fire teams and clear the building. Secure any other entrances then report back to me,' Surfer Dude ordered crisply. "The rest of you, cover the approach and hold this area. We're not letting these squid heads push us back. Move!"

"Lockett, point," Mike commanded in response. "They know we're here so use your comms to keep me posted. Let's move!"

The others followed naturally as the corporal pushed in through the doors, two other Marines automatically holding them open for the others to surge in in force. Mike deployed the fire teams as they spread out through the dark building. Flashlights played up and down deserted aisles as the soldiers charged through the store that only days earlier would have been filled with eager shoppers looking for the latest bargain. No more, not only had the city of Los Angeles changed but the whole world had changed since then.

"Movement, east wall," a Marine's voice crackled through the comm link.

"Light him up!"

The thump of a grenade being launched from an M203 broke the silence followed by an explosion and a shower of kids tricycles from the bike section a pair of aliens had been hiding in.

"Contact! Contact!" others called out frantically as the invaders made their stand.

Suddenly the dark store was lit up like the 4th of July by sizzling tracer fire and alien machine gun bursts. Mike had placed the men well so with interlocking fields of fire they were able to systematically push all the remaining aliens into a killing zone in the center of the store.

Harris, firing systematic bursts from his SAW burst out laughing despite the frenzy of combat. An alien, desperate to escape, had floundered through the lingerie section and had a purple lace bra stuck to its head that would have looked better on his fiancée Cherise. The moment of mirth lasted but a moment as the alien was shredded by the fire of several Marines allowing Harris a moment of melancholy wondering if he'd ever see her again in something like that.

_Push the thought from your mind bro, it__'s us or them_, he told himself, _Cherise is alive man and I'll marry her yet. I owe that to Stavrou. _ The soft spoken, bespectacled soldier pushed even harder, anger masking his usually happy face.

It had been a sharp firefight but ended up lasting less than five minutes before the calls starting coming in:

"East sector secure."

"South secure."

"West entrance secure."

But then followed the sound every combat leader hates to hear:

"Medic!"

The building was secure and fortunately the cost had been relatively light. Five men wounded, two seriously, but fortunately none killed. Maybe the tide had begun to turn.

Mike deployed the bulk of his fire teams to secure the entrances to the building before taking his own team and trotting back to the Lieutenant.

"Good to go sir," Mike reported.

Surfer Dude nodded but didn't say anything to him, preparing for the next phase of action. "All right, assaulting force, let's take this street," he yelled to the force ready to move.

Leaving Mike and his squad behind the officer charged off with a heavy platoon he'd chosen to take the last position. On cue the mortars stopped their fire as the Marines hit Osborne. The GPMG's provided covering fire but it wasn't enough. With the mortars stopped the aliens, who had wisely gone to ground, reappeared and blasted the approach to their position. A wall of fire greeted the Marines forcing them back to the cover of the department store.

The aliens tried themselves to push across to retake their lost position but were met with stiff resistance from the hasty defense set up around the Target store so they couldn't move either.

It had become a stalemate.

Neither side seemed content to simply trade fire across the boulevard though time worked against the Marines. Both sides probed, looking for a weakness to exploit but neither gave any ground.

The officer in charge of the attack called for his radioman in an attempt to bring some much-needed support. "Echo 1-7 this is Echo 2-7. We're stuck here. We need fire support. Anything in the air? Over."

"Negative on the air support 2-7," Captain Harvel responded on the other end. "But hold your position, I'm sending some reinforcements and something I think will help unstick things."

The lieutenant organized his men for a renewed assault, curious to see what his superior could send that would help tip the balance. Then a smile lit up his tanned face as he saw not only another two sections of infantry move up but also a rocket launcher team.

Yes, this would unstick things nicely.

Directing rocket fire towards alien strong points, the Marines were able to soften resistance. With a charge worthy of any Marine echelon in the storied history of the Corp, with one more push they successfully dislodged the aliens from the strip mall. With the alien's last defensive position breached they fell back with the Marines pressing them all the way past their objective in order to have enough ground to set up a cordon to ensure the precious reinforcements they were waiting for would be unimpeded.

The ramp had been secured as was the underpass and area on the opposite side of the freeway. Alien resistance seemed to evaporate. It became suddenly quiet again.

Despite the exertion in the humid August afternoon no one rested. Fire teams began to set up a defensive position finding whatever cover they could to protect the off ramp and surrounding area. The cost had been high in killed and wounded but everyone knew the importance of this mission, plus, it had been a clear victory for the human forces, something they desperately needed. The wounded were being carried back to the airport for evacuation and a few more reinforcements had arrived but that had slowed. Doc Adukwu rejoined the section since the casualty collection point had been closed. All that seemed left to do was to wait for the arrival of the tanks.

"Not much longer now," Captain Harvel encouraged the men as he went around checking their progress, ensuring all of the arcs were covered. "We're going to hold this position and the rocket launcher will hold the center."

_Boom!_

The Marine with the rocket launcher and his loader suddenly evaporated in a ball of flame.

"Walking gun!" a nearby leatherneck screamed, warning too late of the arrival of the lethal weapon. Letting loose a salvo of missiles at close range it eliminated in one shot the biggest threat the Marines could muster.

The aliens counter-attacked in force.

The newly arrived alien walking gun began to systematically focus on the key points of resistance and just as systematically eliminated them. Other infantry caste aliens poured into the area, cutting down any Marine that tried to move out of the cone of fire of the deadly support weapon. Withering fire caused the defenders to wilt initially but they wouldn't break, not this close to accomplishing their mission.

A large squad of aliens cut across Laurel Canyon Boulevard, effectively cutting the Marines holding the off-ramp from the reinforcements coming from the airport. It was as if they knew what travelled down the highway also so wanted to deny the humans the hope that had been growing.

Harris returned fire with his SAW, checking the progress of those who would try to take the ramp. Imlay added what firepower he could with his grenade launcher but it was small compensation for the rockets. Mike moved from position to position, redirecting fire and shifting men about to keep them from harms way. All the while rounds hissed and pinged all around him. He was singularly focused on holding the position. The reminder of Hector and the others when he'd passed Rincon Avenue drove him despite the searing pain from his wound and growing light headedness.

_Not now, not again_, he kept telling himself. The mantra went through his head again and again. He wouldn't fail those who'd put their trust in him another time. _Not this time_.

The Marines were being pressed hard. It was only a matter of time before their line broke. But not one of them wavered. None thought of breaking and running. They were here to the end. Several glanced at comrades, gave winks and wry smiles, knowing what the next few minutes held. No, none broke. The Marine motto of Semper Fidelis coursed in their DVA: always faithful. They would hold to the end, taking as many with them as possible, hoping they would be remembered for their sacrifice.

Then, just as suddenly as the rocket launcher team had been blown up, the walking gun erupted in a ball of fire.

Simultaneously the sound of a 25mm chain gun opening up and the roar of a trio of Apache helicopters filled the air. All eyes turned to the source of the intrusion. Coming down the Golden State Freeway, escorted by a flight of gun ships flying cover, was a half-dozen LAV-25's leading the way for a convoy of flatbed tractor trailers. On those trailers was a sight for the weary eyes of the beleaguered Marines: M1A1 Abrams tanks.

The column's escort joined the fight. Their considerable firepower overwhelmed the aliens in a matter of minutes. Momentum broken and main support weapon destroyed, the alien remnant retreated in disarray.

"The cavalry's here!" Harris whooped, screaming with joy.

"We did it, we actually did it," Imlay shouted, wiping sweat from his eyes and pounding Harris on the shoulders.

As if a burden had been lifted from him, knowing the mission had been accomplished, Mike did a half turn, as if to leave the position, took one step and collapsed to the pavement.

The others in his section saw this and rushed to his side, ignoring the cheering marines around them.

"Doc!" Lockett screamed, "Get over here. Staff Sergeant's down!"

"Hang on Staffs," Harris begged him, "the funs about to begin."

"Tanks are here, mission accomplished," Mike grunted in his gravelly voice, "good job 2-5. Retreat…" his voice trailed off as everything went dark.


	5. Chapter 5 Reunion

**Chapter ****5 - Reunion**

Regaining conciousness, before Mike's eyes fluttered open he felt a soft touch on his forearm stirring a pleasant memories in the sea of misery he suddenly experienced. He knew instinctively who it was.

"Michele," he croaked.

"Mike, you're okay," she gasped, a look of joy lighting up her face.

"What are you doing here?" Mike asked in sudden surprise, his faculties starting to return to him as his eyes darted around the tent hospital ward he lay in.

"I'm helping in the aid station," she replied, trying to look casual but the intense look of concern in her deep brown eyes betrayed the woman's true feelings.

Mike wasn't sure why but this made him feel good. Already conflicting emotions were swirling around in his head where he needed focus. Trying to move his body the electric jolt of pain let him know he didn't need his game face on for a while.

"I thought you only operated on animals and aliens," he deadpanned, recalling a previous conversation of theirs.

Head bobbing in laughter Michele's pretty face exploded in a radiant smile. Leaning over, she instinctively put her head on his chest. Realizing what had just happened, she quickly pulled back by sitting up straight. Trying to appear casual, Michele brushed an errant strand of black hair back behind her ear while also trying to subtly wipe a tear of relief away.

The observant Marine took it all in. Normally Mike would have been amused by the woman's discomfort but something, and it wasn't the pain, had him hold his tongue.

Neither spoke, instead gazing unabashed at one another fearing the moment this intimate connection would be broken. Each caught the 'look' in the eyes of the other, stirring conflicting emotions. With everything that had gone on where this could realistically go for the pair seemed hard to figure out. To move from a look to an action, to go from longing to declaration, still seemed like a long stretch.

Still aching from his wounds, Mike broke the ice rather then keep the pretense of indifference up. "Its good to see you again Michele," he declared honestly. "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing okay. I still can't believe everything that's gone on," she replied reflectively. "I mean a week ago I had no clue any of this would be going on," Michele added quietly, avoiding his penetrating blue eyes. "It's a bit hard to process."

"I know. Two weeks ago I was ready to retire and now the world is at war. Who'd have known it?"

"Yea, that too," Michele said stiffly, shifting herself away from him.

_Idiot!_ Mike wanted to bang his head on the bed post as he realized how stupid he'd been. He'd missed her point totally.

An awkward silence came between them, the initial closeness stretching into to a wider chasm.

Michele didn't know what to do. She felt as if she were pushing things with Mike, dropping hints she expected him to pick up despite the fact he lay there wounded and likely in his own state of shock. How unfair was that? But that's she did it, probe quick then get out rather then be hurt. No wonder she was lonely most of the time. How ironic, she thought, _I'm likely as much a tactician as he is_.

There had been so much she'd wanted to say. She'd rehearsed it in her mind: the bold statement of affection, the desire for this to lead to something, all of it. The picture had been perfect in her mind, his response like something you'd see in a movie. A beautiful moment in this sea of misery. Yet the reality seemed to not be turning out nearly like she'd thought.

It was awkward.

Michele wanted to scream, to get up and run away, to do something, but she sat there transfixed, not knowing what to do.

She wasn't the only one.

For Mike, not knowing what to do or say, feeling suddenly unsure, all the thoughts and feelings he'd had in the helicopter before going back into LA suddenly seemed more dangerous then the aliens seeking to obliterate mankind. Perhaps the time had come for a tactical withdrawal.

"How's Hector?" Mike asked trying to redirect the conversation.

"He's staying with me and my nieces," Michele answered woodenly. "He seems to be okay but I suspect he's still in shock from everything that's gone on."

Mike nodded his head in understanding. He could only imagine what the young boy was going through. "Any word from your sister?" he asked changing the subject.

"No. We're in a refugee camp. Its such a mess." Her eyes began to glisten as the emotion of everything going on began to overwhelm the seemingly confident woman who inside wanted to curl up in a ball.

"Well communications has got to be pretty spotty right now," Mike declared, trying to be encouraging. "I'm sure she's okay."

Yea, me too," Michele responded without conviction.

_How stupid are you Nantz?_ Mike chided himself silently, then observing the tears in her expressive eyes he added, _You think saying something like that helps? Now you've made her cry Brick!._

The two sat in silence for a couple of minutes.

"I got the letter to Lt. Rodriguez's wife," Michele volunteered, seeing the growing anguish on Mike's face, knowing she was the cause of it, mentally kicking herself for a lack of strength.

"What? You found her?" he asked, trying to sit up in surprise but the pain caused him to fall back with a groan.

Michele felt terrible for causing more discomfort. _My special gift_ she tormented herself. "No, she found me. You may not know this but your team are quite the celebrities. She heard I was part of the group you brought out and found me."

"How is she?"

How do you think? Michele regretted the sharp response as she saw renewed distress in Mike's clear blue eyes. Emotions were very high it seemed.

The woman realized she'd been feeling sorry for herself and not thinking about someone she supposedly had feeling for so changed her attitude.

"There was nothing you could do about it Mike," Michele tried to get him to see. "It wasn't your fault he died. She doesn't blame you but did appreciate getting the letter and finding out what happened to her husband."

"Thanks," he said without emotion, staring up at the canvas ceiling. _Yet another dead man on my conscience_ Mike thought to himself, _another face to haunt me in the middle of the night. Yet another I've failed, just like all the others. I got get out before I do it again_.

_Why do I always do this__,_ Michele admonished herself, _speaking before I think. Yet again I hurt someone I care about._

Both seemed to be sinking into a morass of dark feelings.

Regaining her composure, Michele decided to try to strike out, to be bold like the man she realized she was falling love with rather than wallow in growing pity. "I see you didn't get to your 'to do' list!"

"What?" Mike responded in confussion, clawing his way out of the lonely abyss. "What do you mean by that?"

"From the bus?" Michele shot back playfully. "From the wound you got saving us from that drone?" she reminded him. "Not only didn't you get it looked at you went right back into combat and got shot."

"I was kind of busy," Mike reponded a bit too gruffly, but touched by the concern he could see. Now smiling he added, "I guess I forgot to put it in my Daytimer. Besides, its no big deal."

"It could have killed you," Michele said barely above a whisper, avoiding eye contact.

She knew she'd tipped her hand, that she'd shown all her cards. The statement and the look on her face screamed out her true feelings for the handsome, stoic Marine. But Michele didn't care anymore. She'd watched people die, thought she was going to die and had no interest in games or pretense anymore.

But did he feel the same way?

Mike Nantz, despite his pain knew the beautiful woman who sat beside him, whose smell mesmerized him, cared for him, in fact cared deeply. Something he didn't dare hope for, a spark he'd felt when they'd first spent time together at the beleaguered police station, had been shown to him to be more then a dream, it was real.

He didn't know what to do.

Ever since Afghanistan, and since THAT NIGHT three years ago Mike had lost his nerve. He became suddenly silent and even reflective for several awkward moments. He tried to reach his hand out to her, to connect again with another person, another woman, but he couldn't move. A growing gulf of lonliness began to overwhelm him.

Despite the fact the two sat only inches apart it seemed like they were now growing miles apart.

Despite the dull pain of his wounds Mike felt a sharp stab in the center of his chest that felt a hundred times worse. He'd tried to open up. He'd made himself vulnerable and gotten burned before though something told him the woman before him wouldn't. Even more, he'd cared and then had to bury those he cared out. No, emotions, things of the heart, had cost him big time in the past. He'd built a Berlin Wall between his head and his heart and had been content to sit behind it, hunker down, and not be at risk again.

But it was more then a wall, it was a castle.

A castle can be pretty cold and despite his tough promises Mike still had longings, dreams, hopes. But the wall stood firm and he suddenly realized a castle could be a pretty lonely place for a king who had no queen.

Could Michele be that woman? The look in her eyes said yes, his heart screamed yes, but his head said: protect!

He wanted to drop the drawbridge and open the gate to his heart, to come out of the castle. But every time he thought about it, the pain, no the REALITY of THAT NIGHT assaulted him like a vicious horde bent on destroying him. So instead he retreated back to the safety of his walls.


	6. Chapter 6 THAT night

**CHAPTER 6 – That Night**

Before LA, before the alien invasion of earth, before Hector and Lt. Martinez, before Michele there was THAT night, an event that lay the foundation for everything that followed for Mike Nantz.

Though it happened in May 2008 the groundwork was laid in September 2001.

9/11 changed a lot of things for Mike. Like so many others it hit hard. This was especially the case for Marines like him. He wanted to do something. He wanted to strike back at Osama Bin Laden and his Al-Qaeda fanatics. It went far deeper though. Something stirred within Mike Nantz, something he'd not considered before. As he watched the news, saw the smoke rising from the Twin Towers and saw the interviews with the families he became overwhelmed with an intense sense of melancholy. Who would mourn him if something like this would happen? What did he have 'to come home to'? A desire grew like a blaze ignited to put down some roots, to have someone who cared for him. He wanted a wife. He wanted a family. A bachelor up until that point, Mike had been so focused on serving the Corp he'd not had time for relationships. Sure there had been women but not one special woman. Not one he saw himself growing old with. Then there were kids. He liked them and strangely they liked the intense Marine. He wanted his own. The thought of dying and no one caring began to resonate with him, gnawed away at him really, so he began a duel quest of seeing how he could serve his country more directly and also have some kind of life outside the Corp.

He'd never had much of a family and the example he did have stunk. His father had been a drunk and a drifter, an embarrassment really. His mother…well, she wasn't much into be a mom so he found himself left mostly alone at a young age to fend for himself. The only one who had really cared about him was his grandfather. Grandpappy Mike had always called him.

Grandpappy had been a larger-than-life man, with broad shoulders, a shock of cropped white hair and ready smile. Tall and strong despite his age, despite being a career soldier he had a tender and sentimental side that made him a bit of a contradiction. As a result Mike adored the man and followed him around whenever he could. Best of all Grandpappy had been a 2-5 Marine. His father before him served with the 2-5 also. He'd in fact been with them in World War 1 when a French officer had recommended the regiment retreat during the Battle of Belleau Wood and his company commander Captain Lloyd Williams had replied, "Retreat? Hell we just got here!" thus giving birth to the battalion's motto 'retreat hell'.

It was a strong legacy, one that had the ability to shape a young man looking to belong to something more then what he'd been given.

Though Mike had a quick mind and good work ethic school didn't interest him much so he quit as soon as he could and joined the Marines. With the Corp he found not only something that he excelled at but more importantly he found purpose. Mike Nantz was so good in fact that right out of basic training he'd been tapped for a variety of advanced training leading to a posting with the elite Force Recon group.

After 9/11 though Mike would no longer be content to be an observer, he wanted to be at the end of the spear that thrust back at the enemy. So when an experimental special operations group called Det 1 formed he joined right away. Working with a group of Navy SEALs he'd spent much of the early stages of the war in Iraq tracking THE target. He'd ultimately ended up with him in his sights but never given permission by squeamish bureaucrats to do what he'd been sent in to accomplish. Win, but don't win too badly seemed to be the prevailing thought. In the end his mission and his team didn't exist so he didn't participate in the victory celebrations. Mike didn't care though. He wasn't seeking glory, only to make a difference and he'd done that many times over.

In the whirlwind of all this he met Amanda. The striking blonde haired woman was the daughter of a prominent industrialist. She herself was a success serving as a manager in one of her father's factories. They'd met through mutual friends, she a restless woman looking to make a statement to her father and he looking to set up something more permanent. It seemed not only a mismatch in terms of background but more importantly expectations.

For the short term it seemed great but long term there were pretty major issues between them but love is blind at times and so they wed.

At first Mike's work in the war on terror had been stimulating to Amanda and each return home proved to be an exciting, passion-filled release. But soon that became less appealing for the restless woman. By this point now a Sergeant Mike Nantz had joined the recently formed Marine Special Operations Regiment proving himself to be one of their key NCOs. The reward for his success though was a constant diet of missions. Iraq, Afghanistan, back and forth between the two, that had become the cycle.

Oh well, nature of the beast Mike had figured but then Amanda didn't like the fact that he'd be gone for four months and had 'nothing' to show for it. The nature of his missions meant he couldn't talk about it nor could she. With nothing to brag about the tensions built caused increasing strain to their already fragile marriage. Things like that continued to nag at them and so two and a half years later he resigned from the special ops unit and returned to a regular Marine battalion being posted to the 2-5.

But that wasn't enough. She wanted him out, to quit, to leave the Marines entirely. But how could he? Being a soldier was all he knew. How could he turn his back on that, on the legacy of Grandpappy? How could he give up service to his country to instead immerse himself in the world of injection-moulded plastics or whatever the heck it was her father did? Yet Mike was willing to do it to make things work despite the fact it was eating a hole in his stomach.

But then it became academic after THAT night in May 2008.

Amanda was out to another meeting at church. She had always been a regular church goer, they even had gone together early in their marriage. But the last six months she seemed to be there all the time. He never could figure out what they were doing. He believed in God, he went to church regularly and sometimes even dropped into chapel on base but there just didn't seem to be any point in getting all fanatical about it. But she sure did love to go to church with or without him. It seemed to be her thing so he supported it to try to be a good husband.

Being they lived off base Mike didn't do too much on days off so he would work on the house, read or make plastic models when she was out which seemed to be all the time. THAT night two of his buddies from the base decided to take him out. Julio Garcia and Eddie Minor, two other sergeants from his company, wanting to expand his social standing positively refused to take no for an answer so took him out to a popular pub, The Fox and Fiddle.

The music was loud and the place packed. Eddie, who always seemed to be on the make, declared it a 'target rich environment' and began to cruise around for someone who would be impressed by his war stories. Mike and Julio got a couple of cold Budweisers and began to debate American foreign policy.

"You're crazy, Mano," Julio shot back at Mike's comment about fighting on foreign fronts. "I say we tell the world 'screw you. You don't like America, fine; sort your mess out yourselves.' That's what I think."

"Then what do we do, set up a wall around our country like the Israelis want to do?" Mike countered cagily.

"Damn straight, just keep 'em out. We mind our business and then anyone mess with us we take them out."

"But can't you see how us fighting on their turf keeps them from fighting on ours?" Mike countered.

Julio opened his mouth to rebut but by the smile on his friend's face knew he was walking into an ambush. The Latino Marine chuckled then took a pull on his beer rather then speak, planning his next salvo.

The two enjoyed their verbal chess game. But inevitably the debate became an aggravating irony since despite being its instruments they had no control over how it came about.

Mike was beginning to be glad he came, enjoying the night out when his commando instincts kicked in. Something wasn't right. His Spidey sense began to tingle. He knew no enemy could be present. He knew no Jihadist lurked in the shadows trying to kill him yet he felt his skin crawl, like something worse sat lurking, waiting to destroy.

Automatically scanning the crowd for any threats he saw in a dark corner of the pub a woman who looked like his wife with another man and couple. Looking more closely he realised it was Amanda sitting face-to-face, staring at another man. His heart nearly stopped before it raced up into his throat as he watched their lips meet in a tender embrace.

"Did you hear what I just said?" Julio asked. But then his gaze tracked to where Mike's pained stare was fixed. "Oh man. Mike…listen…," he stammered, not sure what to say.

Mike got up deliberately from his chair carefully setting his bottle of beer on the table then began to walk towards the corner.

Julio got up in a flash moving right beside him to block the way. Grabbing his arm, he tried to steer his friend away. "What are you doing? Come on lets get out of here"

Silently Mike pulled his arm from his friend's grasp continuing to move towards the booth still unnoticed by the crowd.

"Leave it alone….don't deal with this here!" Julio tried one last time to manoeuvre his friend away from fate.

It became academic. They were on the group's radar screen. Amanda turned to look at what the group had become suddenly silent over and now were staring at. Her usually confident expression dropped off and the color left her as she saw her icy-faced husband.

"Mike, I…" she stammered and then went silent, her eyes averting his. She saw in his face a look of serenity she'd never seen before but one she instinctively knew to be extremely dangerous.

Mike went from deep hurt to rage in almost the blink of an eye when he identified the man his wife had been kissing. The haircut gave him away. Military. He wasn't sure how he knew him at first but he recognized the man as a Navy officer. Not the type to serve on ship mind you, to go into combat. No, the type who sat behind a desk filling in papers while others fought and sacrificed. Seeking glory but no guts.

The next realization became far worse causing his rage to go from red to white hot. He was from their church. All the 'meetings' and time out made sense to him in an instant. He wondered for a brief moment what God thought about this, but then he pushed that aside, deciding to be the Almighty's agent of wrath.

Embarrassment spiked his rage. He, Force Recon, Det One, Special Ops, he'd not seen it coming, not figured out the signs. He didn't want to, he didn't want to believe. He'd wanted stability, he'd wanted kids and she'd put him off, he'd left Special Ops for her and now she sat making out with this prissy pencil pusher.

"Listen, its not what it looks like…," the pale man whose name Mike remembered was Bill said awkwardly, standing up but not meeting the steely gaze fixed on him.

"Shut your mouth," Mike barked back, "I've got nothing to say to you." Turning his gaze to Amanda his rage melted as his heart broke. "How could you?" he whispered.

"Mike, we need to talk," she answered, a gust of winter in her voice.

"HOW COULD YOU?" Mike exploded, fury returning at her seeming lack of care for his feelings. "I sacrificed everything for you. I've wanted a family for three years and this is how you repay me?"

The pub had gone quiet as others began to take in the unfolding confrontation. Bill, feeling the stares of the people around them, tried to calm the situation.

"Why don't we all leave here and go someplace quiet to talk?" Bill asked, trying to shift the focus away from them.

If the Navy officer had left it at that there wouldn't have been a problem. Mike ignored him so the man grabbed the Marine by the arm to get his attention.

That proved to be a big mistake.

Instinctively Mike countered the grab, throwing off the shred of restraint that remained. Locking his free hand onto Bill's arm he quickly spun the surprised man around while putting him into an arm bar. Mike used the leverage and momentum to savagely smash the Nay officer's head down onto the table. Glasses and plates flew off the table at the force of the impact. As Amanda screamed others scrambled out of the way. The rage took control and Mike reacted like a combat soldier. Totally oblivious to the events around him, laser-locked on his target, Mike poured all his frustration and rage out onto his perceived enemy, pummelling the man relentlessly. The next thing he knew Eddie and Julio had him pinned on the ground as Amanda knelt sobbing beside a bloody and unconscious Bill.

Mike sat silently, head down, waiting for the Shore Patrol to come and arrest him. An ambulance took Bill away along with Amanda who rode with him to give the battered and humiliated man comfort. It turned out the Navy officer had a broken nose, lost 2 teeth, suffered a separated shoulder in the altercation plus had the embarrassing distinction that went around the base that he hadn't even been able to get a punch in to defend himself.

No charges were filed against Mike due to the nature of what had transpired that night, Bill being too humiliated to press charges. Mike heard nothing from the church they had attended which suited him just fine. He didn't want to talk to them either. The last act of this tragic drama unfolded when divorce papers came two weeks later. Amanda never talked to him again except through her lawyer.

So much for legacy.


	7. Chapter 7 Deception

**CHAPTER 7 – Deception **

[June 2010 – one year earlier]

"RPG 3 o'clock!" the top turret gunner in the lead Humvee screamed into his headset catching the rocket's flash signature out of the corner of his eye.

The driver of the gunner's vehicle instinctively looked while slamming on the brakes allowing the rocket to scream past harmlessly.

"Engage, engage!" the vehicle commander ordered redundantly.

The .50 caliber machine gun began to spit out rounds, causing the whole vehicle to shudder from the force.

The other Humvees in the four-vehicle convoy came to an abrupt halt then disgorged Marines who moved automatically into a defensive perimeter to counter the ambush.

"Gomers on the berm line to the front," a young Marine on his first tour called out excitedly

"Light 'em up!" the patrol's leader who wore the chevrons of a staff sergeant ordered the group.

The beleaguered line of Marines erupted in fire at the threat throwing tufts of dirt in the air as their bullets sought to find a mark. In response, the ambushers shot back though their fire was not nearly as disciplined. Bullets whizzed through the air and pinged off the vehicles as the crouching and kneeling Marines attempted to achieve fire supremacy by bringing an M249SAW machine gun into action and loosing several grenades from their M203 launchers.

"We're pinned down Staff Sergeant, we need air support," a corporal yelled to their commander.

"Naw," the leader replied, piercing blue eyes flashing. "This isn't going to last long enough for them to get here. These gomers'll cut and run soon, just watch."

As if prophetically, the attackers ceased fire. The Marines responded in kind and things became eerily quiet except for a breeze blowing across the barren terrain. For several minutes the soldiers waited in their defensive position to ensure a renewed assault wouldn't come from another area. It seemed unlikely since it rarely did repeating the frustration of fighting an elusive foe that wouldn't stand and fight.

"Dante, Guttero, Colins, Paige, with me," the staff sergeant ordered. "We're going to check out their position. Armbruster, cover us on the .50. The rest of you look sharp."

The team leader knew what he'd find before he got there: nothing of use. His wisdom was rewarded as they cautiously approached the location the ambush had been sprung. Other then empty shell casings nothing of value could be found. No blood trails, no tracks, nothing.

So continued another frustrating day in Afghanistan.  
>Afghanistan reminded Mike Nantz, the patrol leader, a lot of Iraq. The terrain was different, the climate was different and the people were different, but the mission was similar and the feelings were the same. Another nearly impossible mission with parameters that handcuffed the troops on the ground.<p>

Gathering his troops Mike did a quick debrief of the situation, pointing out what they did well and areas to improve. This wasn't like training; if you didn't improve you were dead.

They'd just loaded up and were preparing to resume their patrol when the radio in Mike's Humvee squawked, "Kilo 1-3 this is Kilo 1, over."

"Kilo 1-3, go ahead 1, over," Mike responded, acknowledging the call from their company commander.

"We got a report of a Taliban attack on a school in Berekza 1-3. Go and check it out and report what you find."

"Roger that," Mike acknowledged. Yep, another frustrating day in Afghanistan.

Forty-five minutes later Mike watched a twenty-something woman with black, naturally curly hair crying as the dust swirled around her wondering if the group that had attacked them had destroyed this place of learning.

Dust always seemed to be swirling at this time of year in Afghanistan.

"Armbruster, stay on that .50," Mike ordered the Marine still in the top turret of his Humvee swiveling the .50 caliber machine gun back and forth, "Dante, take a team and sweep the village, make sure there's no more rag heads around. Wortner, set up a perimeter."

Sarah Scott's eyes were filled with tears as her slender body tightened with wave after wave of convulsive sobs coming from deep within the volcano of her emotions. The cold, life-less eyes of the little Afghan girl named Jahdila stared up at her, glassy and fixed as if incredulous to what had happened. The malnourished body would have been cause for pity itself back in Sarah's native Ohio but the true cause of the grief was the gaping bullet hole in the child's stomach. Ugly and bloated, the wound had stopped bleeding becoming crusty with dried blood. Worse for the Christian missionary, the bullet had travelled through the little Bible the girl had been given a week earlier and still clutched.

The twenty-three year old woman had come to Afghanistan to be a teacher in a school an American organization had built but that had been only one part of her job and the mandate of the group. She was a Christian missionary first, there to tell the Muslim people about Jesus, and a teacher second. The organization she taught for, Teach Afghanistan, had built the school in order to gain entry to the country since they were a subsidiary of a large American Christian missions organization, Worldwide Gospel Outreach, whose desire it was to bring the Bible to the Muslim nation. The only problem was missionaries were forbidden in the country by the government and enflamed the Taliban who they were trying to dislodge. It made an already difficult situation that much harder. But that didn't register with Sarah Scott. She didn't care about the politics, she only wanted to make a difference in people's lives, to share the love of God she had experienced. And now this had happened.

All she could do was cradle the girl who'd used to be so perky in her arms as a mother cradles her child, rocking back and forth with a soft and heart-breaking moan. The question that had been gnawing away at her for weeks now finally came gushing out as she set the child gently down in the dirt.

"WHY? Why God do you allow this to happen?"

The scream that came out of her mouth startled even her and caused those watching to turn away in silent embarrassment. Sheepishly the Marines who stood around the young woman cast subdued glances at each other or kicked the dirt in frustration with their boots wondering yet again how the most powerful nation in the world could allow something like this to happen.

Someone had to act but no one dared move as they were afraid how the grief-stricken woman would react. Finally, Mike, since he wore the stripes of authority stepped forward to bring the scene to an end. There was still danger around and while well-armed they were not that secure especially that far into what was deemed enemy territory.

"Miss?" Mike spoke gently but his voice held a slight hint of urgency. "Miss, we really do need to get you back to your compound. This area is still pretty unstable so we really have to get moving." He stopped but then added awkwardly in a lower tone, "I'm, I'm sorry about the little girl."

Sarah looked up and turned back towards the voice that was calling to her. The sun sat high overhead hurting her already stinging blue eyes when she gazed at the man who had spoken. She saw a tanned, dusty and sweat-streaked face under the heavy Kevlar helmet. She saw a firm jaw with deep cleft in it giving a sense of relief due to the obvious strength. She could see concern but as her eyes focused and she saw his uniform and how the other men and vehicles framed the picture something snapped within her.

Jumping to her feet Sarah looked up into the rugged face and shouted, "It's all YOUR fault, you and your guns! You killed her, all of you, coming here and trying to take over. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Take a look at your work, big tough soldiers…"

Throwing the full weight of her 120 pounds forward she began to beat on Mike's chest and body. Another Marine stepped up to try to stop the missionary but Mike held up his hand to stop him. He knew the broken woman needed the outlet.

For Sarah, all the pain, anger and rage that had been building up came out in this attack. The strong hands of the soldier gently but firmly grabbed her, holding not too tightly, until the frenzy passed.

She stood there, shuddering at the violence of her assault against those who only were trying to help. She knew it wasn't their fault but they were there and they were a convenient target. The looks Sarah could discern back from the Marines ranged from awkwardness to stony displeasure. But the man who had spoken to her still had a look of pained concern which tore at her already broken heart. She hadn't been fair.

"All right 2-5 lets mount up," Mike ordered, as if nothing had happened. "Dante, you have lead Humvee, stay sharp, watch for snipers," he added, signalling the time to move on from the tragedy had arrived as others from the village came out of hiding to clean up and look after the bodies.

Silently the group loaded into the four armoured vehicles that their patrol travelled in. The top turret gunners hopped into place and checked their weapons. They automatically swivelled to cover their arcs ensuring 360 degree firepower around the convoy.

"Kilo 1 this is Kilo 1-3," Mike called in on the radio to give a report. "We swept the area and there are numerous dead, no wounded," he confirmed to follow up on their first report after coming onto the scene of destruction. "The school's destroyed too," he added without mentioning the Bible's he'd seen which weren't supposed to be there. "Roger that, it's Taliban alright sir," he confirmed what his company commander already knew on the other end of the radio. "No sir, no sign of them in the area but it wasn't that long ago. Yes, the teacher is secure and we're bringing her back to base. No sir, no other troubles to report."

Sarah realized how lucky she was to be alive listening to the report. If she hadn't been away from the small village on a long walk, if she hadn't walked in the opposite direction the attack had come from, she would be dead with the others rights now. She tried to see Mike as he spoke to his base but couldn't due to her position in the uncomfortable vehicle. His simple report could have gotten her confined to the compound and her organization censured or expelled for what is it was doing. Her hysterical outburst and hate-laden words could have got her sent back, but this Marine, this man whose name she didn't even know, had covered for her even though she could tell that the men with him didn't appreciate what he'd done.

She owed him and needed to thank him.

The trip back to Camp Leatherneck was quiet for those in the Humvee. No one spoke of the situation, none knew what to say. Sarah was dropped off at the compound of Teach Afghanistan near the main Marine base in the area to report and recover before returning to the main operating area in the province.

Mike had never really paid much attention to the Non-Government Organization before. There were plenty in the country taking part in the reconstruction. Now he looked closer as the small convoy drove away, seeing them in a different light. The sign out front proclaimed education and a future for the children of Afghanistan but now he could read a hidden agenda, one that not only went against the wishes of the leadership in this explosive country but also could prove to be dangerous if the ever-present Taliban discovered this. Mike found himself irritated by the situation, irritated by the woman who hadn't even thanked them but instead insulted and attacked him. He wouldn't report it, it wasn't his place to get people into trouble, but he was still bothered by it.

The gate guards waved the vehicles through the sandbag reinforced entrance to camp Leatherneck. The largest Marine base in Afghanistan started as a staging area for operations in the volatile Helmand region. After the President's troop surge it became permanent spanning over 1,600 acres of space and housing 20,000 people. Despite the dust, searing heat during the day and numbing cold at night it did have many comforts like gyms, good mess facilities, call centers for phoning home and a well-stocked PX. But in Marine tradition it didn't have the frills of other NATO bases like restaurants. All the comforts of home, secure behind a large berm, razor wire, concrete and machine gun towers. Home sweet home.

Mike made sure his men started all their PPD's, post-patrol-drills, before reporting to the battalion command post to make his report. The battalion Executive Officer, Major Ken Ritchie, listened in, uncomfortable with the brazen nature of the attack. None of the officers present could understand why this school, which has stood for two years, now suddenly had been attacked. Mike gave what details he could though left out the part about the Bibles he'd seen, guilt welling up in him like bile.

Still uncomfortable he returned to his men, checking in to make sure no one was cutting corners cleaning weapons and checking gear. He had little fear of that since he'd left them in the hands of Cpl. Dwayne Lockett. The mid-20's African American was one of the best Marines he knew and had become a friend despite their age difference. Lockett desperately wanted to join the special ops regiment Mike had been part of so the Staff Sergeant had been mentoring him and helping him train. Lockett knew, as Mike had taught him, it was easy to get sloppy with a routine but the small stuff saved lives. The dedicated Marine made sure not only the others knew it but did it.

"Hey Staff Sergeant," Lockett greeted him.

"Lockett," Mike replied. "Almost done?"

"Yea, then we'll hit the mess for some chow. You want to join us?"

"Thanks but no. I need to clear my head."

"The school attack messin' with you?" Lockett guessed correctly.

"It is," Mike admitted, "for a lot of reasons. I have some stuff to sort out."

Sensing a need to change subjects, Lockett said, "I got a letter from my little bro Jason."

"How's he doing?"

"Great. He figures he'll make Corporal before the end of the summer. Can you get that? Little runt'll beat my time in to his second stripe.

"You should be proud of him," Mike chuckled at the sibling rivalry, "he's had a pretty good example."

The squad efficiently finished their work, bantering back and forth as soldiers do despite the death and destruction they'd just witnessed. It wasn't insensitivity or lack of compassion. The laughter and dark humour was an age-old safeguard that helped them keep their sanity in an insane situation.

A couple guys went to hit the gym while Lockett and the others sauntered over to the Mess Hall. Mike walked off aimlessly by himself, a bottle of Gatorade in hand, pondering what he'd seen in the school and what that meant. He finally sat down on a bench, idly rubbing the defined cleft in his solid chin. His eyes fixed on a lone figure running towards him. Clad in grey USMC shirt and red shorts the lean man was obviously a competitive runner. Spotting Mike the runner pulled up to a stop at his bench.

"Hello Michael!" the middle-aged man with short brown hair and greying temples greeted him cheerfully.

"Hi Father Alexander," Mike responded affectionately.

Father Alexander McNair served as one of the chaplains for the 2-5 Marines. The Roman Catholic priest still had a slight Irish brogue since he'd been born in Dublin prior to his family moving to America. An avid marathon runner, Father Alexander would often be seen running laps on the hard packed dirt roads around the base.

"You still planning on running that race, Sir?" Mike asked with a chuckle.

"You bet, LA Marathon, March 12th." Despite sweating profusely from the exertion of his run, the priest's breathing had already returned to normal. "I've got the leave booked already. May I?" he asked, gesturing to the Gatorade bottle on the bench.

"Go ahead." Mike agreed, shaking his head at the temporary distraction. "Why anyone would voluntarily run that long for fun is beyond me."

"God works in mysterious ways," the priest answered as he took a long drink of the orange Gatorade, his green eyes lighting up playfully.

"Yea, he does."

"What's up Michael?" Father Alexander asked. "Something's bothering you, I can tell."

Father Alexander was not just a priest and terrific runner he also had an annoying habit of being able to read minds. He had walked with Mike through the dark days after Amanda left him and through the divorce proceedings so was the only one who could call him Michael. Mike had met so many people who professed to know God, who would speak authoritatively about it, but this man was the only one he'd met who he knew truly knew God. He'd helped Mike see this wasn't God's fault but the consequence of choice. The priest was different from many of the other chaplains who would sit in their air-conditioned offices waiting for people to come to them. He'd go out on patrol with the Marines, eat with them, share the same dirt, the same risk. The men trusted him and Mike trusted him with his life.

"Well…," Mike hedged, not wanting to talk about what he'd seen, afraid of how Father Alexander would see it.

"Michael," the priest responded with a stern, parental 'tell me' tone.

"Okay. We were on a patrol today and got a call about an attack on a school about 75 klicks out. We know the place so by the time we get there the rag heads were already gone. They'd burned the school and killed a couple of the kids. There was nothing we could do," Mike explained, guilt evident in the explanation. "The teacher was okay though because she'd been away from the school so we brought her back."

"What a terrible thing, to kill children in the name of God," the priest mused.

"Yea, but the thing that's getting me is in the school there were a whole bunch of Bibles," Mike confessed. "Each of the kids who were killed was holding one. I think the teachers a missionary and the organization behind the school and the work in this area is a Christian mission's organization trying to fly under the radar."

Father Alexander's normally cheerful faced clouded with anger. "Are you sure of this Michael?"

"Yes sir, I am," Mike responded. Concerned he'd upset the chaplain he added, "Sorry, I didn't mean to rag on the church or anything. It's just, well, if they are doing this, that's wrong and its putting a lot of people at risk."

"Yes, themselves included," the priest responded. "I'm not frustrated by you Michael but by them. I'm glad you told me because I've had my suspicions already about this group. I too would love to see the people of this land experience the love of Jesus and receive Bibles but the time isn't right. Things are too fragile and doing this type of thing only enflames the situation," the priest mused. "Don't let this stress you. Let me handle this."

Father Alexander McNeil left a relieved Mike Nantz to make inquiries and see what could be done about Teach Afghanistan. What he found was a more powerful organization behind it then he'd imagined, one well-funded and well protected by politicians back home who tacitly approved of their mission. Despite his knowledge and his position Father Alexander was told, in no uncertain terms, to mind his own business or suffer the consequences. The group could be touched by no one it seemed but the Taliban.


	8. Chapter 8 No right answer

**Chapter-8 No Right Answer**

Mike tried to avoid her but she'd seen him first so came walking over towards him. The teacher his team had brought in from the destroyed school seemed to need to talk.

"Hi, I'm Sarah Scott," she introduced herself with a toothy smile.

"Staff Sergeant Mike Nantz," he countered politely, noticing she wore a plain silver ring on each thumb. _Not your typical teacher, or missionary_, he thought to himself.

"Listen, I want to apologize for the things I said yesterday. I was in shock and treated you poorly," she admitted. "I'm leaving to return to our station in Sar Puzeur later today and couldn't live with myself if I didn't try to make it right. None of what happened was your fault. I should never have said that. I'm sorry," she confessed honestly, her brown eyes moistening a bit. "I appreciate how hard your job must be."

Impressed by Sarah's honesty, and something in her look, he decided to speak openly to her. "Thanks for that Miss Scott."

"Sarah, please," she corrected him.

"Okay, Sarah," Mike agreed. "I appreciate you saying that. Can I be honest with you?"

"Sure, you can say anything you want," the attractive woman flashed a radiant smile, misunderstanding his intent.

"I know what you guys are up to," Mike began awkwardly. "You're not just about education, you're a Christian missions agency from what I can see."

"Well…I…I mean…its just…," Sarah stammered awkwardly as the truth of her organization was revealed. She'd never been comfortable with this 'little secret', not understanding why they had to hide serving God. But she'd been emphatically told, ordered in fact, to keep their mission quiet.

"I'm not judging you and I'm not questioning your sincerity. In fact I agree in some ways this place needs God big time," Mike confessed, drawing an appreciative look from Sarah. "But what you're doing is dangerous. The Taliban are already riled up in this district. They don't need a bunch of Christians flying under the radar whipping them up even more."

"I just want to serve God," she admitted, eyes beginning to tear up.

"I can see that," Mike answered, feeling terrible for upsetting the young woman. "Just be careful that you don't end up causing more harm then good and getting a lot of people hurt in the process."

"Thank you Staff Sergeant for watching out for us," Sarah said quietly, "I also appreciate your concern for me."

"Call me Mike," he answered.

The two spent the next hour talking about life, hopes and dreams while avoiding what each did. Both seemed appreciative of the distraction. Unfortunately Lockett saw the two together and teased the embarrassed man mercilessly later but it had been a nice reprieve for Mike.

Three days later Mike enjoyed a rare day off. Sleeping late then visiting the Mess Hall for breakfast, he planned on hitting the gym and then watching a movie. The new Shrek movie was showing and he needed a few laughs. He'd also been thinking about Sarah, as he'd done off and on since their meeting, wondering about her. None of his plans were to be.

"Staff Sergeant Nantz!"

Mike heard his voice then saw the orderly for their battalion executive officer come trotting over to him. "What's up?" he asked.

"XO needs you in the battalion CP right now Staff Sergeant," the pimply-faced teenage Marine answered.

While Mike had been enjoying a rare leisurely breakfast a sweating man with receding hairline wearing a dress shirt and slacks marched unannounced into the battalion command post. "I'm Arthur Livingstone, from the State Department," he announced, flashing his credentials. "I'm a liaison officer with an NGO that's operating in this region. One of their compounds in Sar Puzeur has been captured by Taliban and we need you to go in and free them."

"What?" Major Ken Ritchie, Executive Officer of the battalion responded, caught off guard by the intrusion and thrust of the statement. "What compound are you talking about? We've had no reports of anything like that going on."

"Its Teach Afghanistan. The news came through our channels and our sources," Livingstone answered.

"And you've confirmed this?"

"Yes we have. It's imperative you mount a rescue operation immediately. In fact it has to be today."

"That's impossible," Ritchie nearly exploded at the presumption of the civilian. "We don't have the right personnel for this type of operation, plus we need to gather information and prepare," the major tried to explain more calmly.

"You have soldiers right?" the man retorted, "so use them and get the job done."

"You don't understand," Ritchie tried to stay patient while wanting to punch the arrogant snot in the face. "We have line soldiers here. We need specialists, commandos like a Delta Force team."

"There's no time to bring in anyone else for this."

"Well the Brits have a troop of SAS, Special Air Service commandos, at their base next door," Ritchie implored. "Why not use them?"

"This is a delicate matter," Livingstone deflected the Marine officer, "we don't want to go through the paperwork."

"Paperwork?" Ritchie finally lost his calm façade. "And what do you mean by delicate?" the Marine asked, his eyes narrowing.

"They're not, strictly speaking, a relief and teaching organization," the sweating State Department officer replied evasively.

"Well what exactly are they?"

"A branch of Worldwide Gospel Outreach," Livingstone admitted.

"What? A Christian missions organization in Helmand province?" Ritchie shouted. "You know they're illegal here. No wonder the Taliban are all kicking up a ruckus. Do you know how dangerous that is? How that puts us all at risk? Our very mission here is in jeopardy."

"We know that and they will be dealt with at the appropriate time but for now we must free the people there," Livingstone responded, his smooth voice sounding suddenly oily. "This needs to be done before CNN or any other press organization finds out. If this gets out it could be very embarrassing for American interests and we can't let that happen."

"We don't have the right type of people for this type of operation," the Marine officer stubbornly declared.

"You don't have any choice in the matter Major," the State Department rep declared, puffing out his chest. "This has the full approval of not only the NATO commander for this region but also the ambassador. I'm ordering you to get this done. Do you want to confirm this or should I?" he asked smugly, pulling out his cell phone for effect.

_Great, not only are we the last to find out but now foreigners and politicians are giving orders to field officers_ Major Ritchie thought to himself. _No wonder we can't win this fight_. He thought about verifying all this for a moment but knew already what the answer would be. He turned his attention to the task at hand thinking who he could call from the battalion who might have the skills to pull it off. A name came to mind. "Private Diggs," he called for his orderly, "find Staff Sergeant Nantz and get him here right away."

Skipping the pleasantries, Major Ritchie went right into the problem when Mike arrived. "Staff Sergeant Nantz, we have a situation we need your skills for. The Taliban have captured one of our NGO compounds about 75 klicks from here. You're going to lead a team to go in and take it back."

"We're doing this sir?" Mike answered in surprise. "Isn't that something for special ops to handle rather then line soldiers?"

"There isn't time to assemble the necessary assets, this is time sensitive," his superior officer ordered

"Okay," Mike replied, wondering why this would be the case then getting a sick feeling of realization in his stomach. "Who's the group sir?"

"Teach Afghanistan."

Mike knew immediately why the place had been taken and why it had to be done quickly. He suddenly felt like a little pawn in a big chess game. The others looked at him expectantly, Major Ritchie avoided eye contact. The die had been cast, there'd be no room for debate.

"All right then, how many hostiles in the compound and how many hostages?" Mike asked impassively.

"Our information has it at three or four Taliban militiamen only," the State Department man stated definitively. "In terms of hostages, we'll get find that out when we're on the ground."

"Any thermal imagining assets available for prep work?" Mike asked his superior officer.

"Not available for this mission Staff Sergeant," Major Ritchie answered uncomfortably.

_Super, _Mike thought. "Well I guess we'll sort that out too when we get there."

"How soon can you have your squad ready to move?" Livingstone demanded. "Time is of the essence here."

"My squad sir?" Mike choked out in surprise to Major Ritchie. "We're not going to pick a team from guys in the battalion who've actually done this before?"

"There's no time to put it all together and prep you to work with each other," the XO declared with a hint of exasperation. "We need to move fast. You and your squad are going to handle this. Get your men squared away and ready to move within the hour."

The die had been cast indeed, white pawn to E4.

A Rapid Response Team from the base had arrived in Sar Puzeur ahead of Mike's squad and formed a perimeter securing the compound. By the time the convoy of MTVR transport trucks protected by four LAV25's arrived with Mike, his team, Major Ritchie, Arthur Livingstone and a State Department aide the area had been cleared. Few civilians were on the dusty streets and those who did travel about ignored the military presence. They knew what was going on and who was doing it so none wanted to become entangled in the situation. Soldiers from the Afghan National Army inefficiently manned several road blocks but beyond that the locals would be of no use.

The MK25's wheels had barely stopped moving when the Marines swung into action. Mike left Cpl. Lockett in charge of the squad and followed the others into a one- story mud building that appeared to be used as a make-shift headquarters. Several Marines greeted them as they arrived while a group of three civilians huddled together as if praying. One left the group and greeted the new arrivals as they came through the door.

"This is Ray Stanton, project manager for this area for Teach Afghanistan," Livingstone announced. "He can give you any information you need."

Mike surveyed the leader of the group. The middle-aged man's sweat-stained shirt matched the glisten on his balding head. Likely didn't get out of the air conditioning much, but then he might be concerned for his people Mike chided himself. "How many people you have inside?" he asked, taking charge of the discussion.

"Well, it's hard to tell," Stanton answered nervously.

"What do you mean it's hard to tell?" Mike shot back a bit irritated.

"People come and go. We had a kid's class going on that could range from fifteen to thirty children. Others are here to receive food and clothing packets plus our administrative staff. Say ten plus a couple of nationals and the kids."

"How many bad guys?"

"I'm not sure," Stanton admitted. "When the shooting and yelling started I escaped out of a window," he confessed sheepishly.

"You left your people to be captured?" Mike blurted out in disgust.

"Someone had to put in the call."

"Listen Staff Sergeant," Livingstone cut in, "Mr. Stanton's actions are not germane here. If he hadn't done what he did these people might all be dead."

Mike didn't follow the logic but held his tongue.

"We estimate no more then forty hostages in the building and three to four Taliban," the State Department rep reported confidently.

"And you know this how?" Major Ritchie interjected.

"We have our intelligence sources Major," Livingstone responded curtly.

"And they are?"

"Classified and again not germane," the State Department man cut him off. "Staff Sergeant, what else do you need from us to mount your rescue operation?" Livingstone asked, signaling there would be no more discussion of that topic.

"Do you have any blueprints?" Mike asked.

"No, we don't," Stanton admitted, becoming more forlorn. "Please, just help us get the people out safely.

"We'll do the best we can," Mike answered, feeling sympathy for the man. "Can anyone who knows the building make me an accurate drawing?"

Livingstone's eyes nervously darted around the collected group as Stanton avoided eye contact. "Sure, we can provide that for you no problem," he answered unconvincingly.

_Guy probably knows little of the place other then his office and the kitchen_ Mike thought to himself, sympathy eroding. "Okay, I'm going to prep my team and do a recce of the perimeter. When I get back I'd like that drawing and also any updates on numbers and hostiles."

Mike left before anyone could respond, wanting to get away from the group as quick as he could. He felt sorry for Major Ritchie but then he was an officer and that's what they got paid for.

"Lockett, Dante, bring your teams in," Mike ordered his Marines who stood around the vehicles waiting for instruction. "All right guys, I'm going to recce the location, you guys do weapons prep, equipment check and unpack the NODs. We're going to go in light and hard so minimal ammo and kit."

Mike left the guys to do their thing as he prowled around the perimeter of the compound. He then found a building that allowed a good line of sight of the compound. Settling into position he began a mental inventory: _Low wall with entry gate closed. Two dead guards at front._ Scanning the periphery he saw what he needed. _No cameras, that's good, windows shuttered closed but likely being watched. Three doors. Stanton won't likely know anything about what kind of locking or barring mechanism they have. There, two blind spots, we can use those for entry._ He had the information he needed so before leaving he took a moment to sit back and thing of the reality of the situation: _no time for rehearsals, no protocols set and with a team that's not trained for this type of thing. Lovely_

Arriving back a short time later at the command center he gave his assessment to the gathered military and civilian command group. A drawing had been provided of the two floors of the building which looked fairly accurate. He could make a fairly decent guess where the hostages would be held but the remainder of the building housed smaller offices and meeting rooms, prime fall back and ambush points. His prognosis for a safe clearing and rescue operation wasn't promising. No one cared; the show had to go on.

While the civilians went away to find some coffee, satisfied they'd done all they could, Mike took the opportunity to speak to his superior officer. "Sir, this is a disaster waiting to happen. We don't have proper int, we don't know what we're up against and I have guys who aren't trained for this."

"It's an imperfect world," Major Ritchie responded evenly understanding what the man said but knowing his hands were tied. "We all have our orders; just get it done Staff Sergeant. Retreat…"

"Hell," Mike answered, snapping off a salute.

Mike, a sick feeling in his stomach, went away to get his men ready as best he could for the operation.

Attempts to contact the attackers holding the compound continually failed. The command group couldn't figure out what they were waiting for. Then Livingstone's cell phone went off and they received an answer. Someone called the State Department rep letting him know a press contingent was on the way from Kabul and would be there in the morning.

"There's no more time to wait Major," Livingstone announced flipping his phone closed, "your team has to go tonight. This has to be done and finished before morning. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Major Ritchie replied grimly. Turning to Mike he ordered, "You have a green light, go get that compound back."

Mike returned to the staging area, a heavy sense of foreboding enveloping him like the darkness of the approaching night. His plan had a simple elegance to it; it had to be though considering the situation and the key players. At 2am the power would be cut at the building and the assaulting force would enter from the north and east entrances in two teams using small explosive charges Mike had fashioned to create a breech. A third team would provide cover with the best shots in the squad providing sniper overwatch.

With his squad huddled around him, Mike went over the drawing of the building and plan of attack while reviewing their drills for the fourth time.

"Don't worry Staffs," Lockett chuckled. "You sound like an old lady. We know what we're going to do and we're going to get it done. Who-rah!"

The other Marines responded in kind, excitement at the prospect of the mission growing.

"Well stay focused," Mike snapped back. "It may look easy but it never is. Watch for traps, watch for trip wires and watch your corners. They tell me they're only three or four inside but I doubt it. Be ready for more. But be sure of your targets before you fire, we don't want any civvie casualties."

With time marching on and no further opportunity for training he gave the order to move out.

Using Night Optical Devices the squad that had been broken up into three teams moved like ghosts into position. Thomas Dante would take one team through a service entrance at the north-east side of the building; Mike would lead the main assaulting force through the main entrance on the center of the north wall. Those groups would converge on the school room located on the main floor to rescue the hostages. Dwayne Lockett would follow with his group behind Mike and clear the second floor. Two Marines would act as snipers covering the building.

It sounded good on paper but reality didn't always work out that way.

At 0130 the squad moved into the inky darkness of the night. They easily reached the blind spots in the lighting of the building and silent as wraiths cleared the perimeter wall and moved into their start positions. Mike was pleased by how well things had gone so far, he began to hope they might actually be able to pull it off. Looking at the luminous dial on his watch he saw they had two minutes until go. He hand signaled his team and Lockett while depressing the send button on his radio twice to let Cpl. Dante's team know they were good to go.

On cue, the lights went out at 2am, throwing the compound into darkness. The Marines switched on their NODs then swung into action.

Dante hit the fuse to set off the breaching charge he'd placed on the handle assembly on the door. A split second later it went off with a dull _pop_ and the door swung partly open.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, the excited Corporal threw in a flash bang grenade and waited for it to go off. With a loud _whump_ the deafening concussion would stun anyone in its radius.

Framing the door Dante shouted back to his team, "All right, let's go 2-.." He never finished the sentence. In his excitement he failed to see the trip wire connected to the door. When it opened it had gone taught. Dante hit it moving into the door, setting off a charge of C4 explosives. A sickening _crump_ erupted hitting him and William Armbruster square on. The two were dead before they knew it flying back to tie up the remainder of their team.

Mike had already thrown in his own flash bang before he heard the explosion on the other side of the building as he moved through his entrance. The distinct sound gave him a sickening feeling of dread. He'd seen a similar charge and detailed a trailer to look after it.

"Explosion at secondary entrance, team 3 is down and inoperational," Pte. Craig McNabb, the sniper reported, anger in his voice, confirming Mike's worst fears.

But there was no time for that.

Anger welled up in Mike like bile, he had men down. But he couldn't go there, the clock was ticking. Going onto autopilot, his days as a commando kicking in, Mike moved swiftly into the building. Hugging the wall he scanned left and right for movement, M4A1 tracking as he went. Two gomers with AK47s stumbled towards him, holding their deafened ears. Two rounds in the chest, one in the head in quick succession left the two Taliban fighters dead.

"Movement, second floor third window," LCpl Donovan Bailey, the other sniper, reported over the radio.

_Crack!_

The sharp report of the A5 sniper rifle told the tale. "One hostile down, others moving to center of building."

Lockett's blocking force raced towards the stairs to intercept.

Mike continued to move swiftly towards the location of the school room. Without the other team converging they'd need to push the pace. Another gomer came out of a room. Wide-eyed with surprise at the face-painted Marines and their NODs he paused for a moment which proved fatal. Mike dispatched him with the same three round pattern.

_Four __down already at least_, Mike thought, _so much for only three or four holding the building._

They'd arrived at the entrance to the school room. Mike paused to allow the others to catch up. The sound of gunfire erupted on the floor above them; he couldn't think of that, he had to get the kids. He could hear voices within the room shouting back and forth in Arabic, a good sign. He hoped they were at the right place.

Using hand signal he had his men form into position, giving them their placements since they'd be the only ones going in. It had been less then a minute-and-a-half since the lights had gone out but already it seemed like hours. With another Marine preparing to open the door, Mike gave the signal. The team burst into the room fast seeking to overwhelm what they hoped would be those holding the hostages.

Mike's guess had been right. Scanning the room through his NOD, the eerie green glow showed a room in confusion. Children and mission workers huddled on the floor. Four Taliban stood around the cowering hostages yelling and threatening them with their AK47s. Though the room was still pitch black, they'd heard the door open. Mike took down one of the terrorists before he could get his gun up with a quick triple-tap burst. That set off a cacophony of screams from the children at the sound of the gunfire. One of the Taliban fired back with a wild burst of automatic fire wide of the mark. The next Marine through the doorway took him out with fire from his M4A1. Mike lined up the third one who had tried to shift position but never made it. His muzzle flashed and the terrorist went down in a heap leaving a bloody streak against the wall he crumpled against. The last Taliban went to shoot at the Marines but changed his mind at the last minute trying to bring his weapon to bear on the children to inflict maximum damage. That proved to be a mistake. He had a clear shot at the exposed Marine but in the time it took for him to shift another member of the team cut the gomer down with a burst of automatic fire.

It was now about two minutes since the Marines had entered the building and miraculously all the hostages seemed safe.

Despite the short period of time Mike could hear his breathing and feel his heart beating. He scanned the room for hostiles, seeing none he looked again to be satisfied they were safe. He noticed a curly haired teacher holding onto several of the children, it was Sarah.

"School room cleared, hostages secure," Mike reported through his radio to the rest of the assaulting force and the command center. Focusing on his team he began to order, "Cover the entrances to the room until the building is secure. Jenkins, with me, Wortner hold this…"

He never finished the sentence as the lights unexpectedly came on in the building and the room. The burst of lights through the Night Optical Devices caused excruciating pain for the Marines wearing them. Mike instinctively threw them off as he doubled over in discomfort. Just as that occurred he heard a grenade go off on the second floor. Again he felt sickened since none of his men carried any.

So much for perfect plans.

"Allahu Akbar!" The opposite door burst open and three Taliban gunmen ran yelling into the room, weapons ready. LCpl Jeffrey Wortner was closest and took a full burst in the chest, going down with a groan of shocked pain. Mike shot back, dropping the first one through the door with a lucky shot to the head. The next went for the children. Opening fire three were hit before Sarah jumped in front of the gunman catching the remainder of the burst in the stomach with a sickening groan but effectively shielding the children.

"No!" Mike screamed as he turned his M4A1 loose to late on the threat. The Taliban gunner fell down in a heap on top of the teacher whose body protected the cluster of children. The other Marines in the room were still not able to respond, shocked at the turn of events and incapacitated by their NODs.

One terrorist remained, looking to take as many with him as he could before becoming a martyr. The Afghan saw Mike as the key threat so turned his weapon to eliminate it. Mike anticipated this move so rolled out of the way as the weapon burst in orange flame peppering the wall he'd just been standing beside. Mike came out of the roll into the prone position and fired up at the surprised Taliban sending several rounds up into his groin and through to the liver. The terrorist buckled over in pain allowing the anguished staff sergeant to finish him with two shots into the head.

Mike released his grip on the assault rifle, letting it hang by its sling as he looked at the carnage and destruction around him. All he wanted to do was throw up.

Then he heard the sounds of screaming children.

Mike watched the four caskets being loaded on the C5 Galaxy. It had been two days since the assault on the Teach Afghanistan compound. The mission had been deemed a tremendous success by the State Department because it had been done before the press arrived and the missions organization could be exposed. In the end there had not been four Taliban holding the compound but thirteen. So much for accurate intelligence. Mike had taken out eight of them himself. As a result, he'd been recommended for a Silver Star. The idea made him want to throw up again. Sarah Scott, the naïve but effervescent missionary from Ohio had died protecting the children she'd come to teach. Mike was reminded there was something in the Bible about greater love being willing to lay down a life for a friend. Dante and Armbruster had died in the initial assault when they missed the door charge. Wortner met his end when someone at the command post had jumped the gun and turned on the power to the building before it had been fully secured.

Accidents happen.

The last casket was reserved for Dwayne Lockett. Like Sarah, he'd given his life to protect others, throwing himself on a Taliban grenade that had been tossed into the hallway saving the rest of his team from harm. Greater love.

_Lockett goes home in a box and I get a medal, what a sick joke_, Mike thought to himself.

The mission had already been deemed classified so none would know the truth of what happened save those who'd been part of it. That suited Mike just fine. He wanted to forget as soon as he could be instinctively knew the faces would be with him forever.

"Come on Michael, its time to move on," Father Alexander said to him quietly, hand reassuringly placed on the now shaking Marine. "You did all you could, no one could ask for more. There was no right answer here."


	9. Chapter 9 Realization

**CHAPTER 9 – Realization **

Jason Lockett thought about his brother Dwayne again, as he did every day. The brooding Marine wondered anew how he'd died. For over a year Jason had hated the man who he thought responsible for his brother's death. The name had been a curse word to him: Staff Sergeant Nantz.

But now that had changed.

Lockett had it out with Nantz less then two weeks earlier at the destroyed Santa Monica airport forward operating base witnessing for himself how much the stoic Sergeant had been impacted by his brother's death also. Still, though he didn't hate Nantz, he couldn't understand how the man could have let Dwayne die, especially if he considered him a friend. It was frustrating not knowing how it had happened so he continued to simmer.

"You think we're going to see any action soon, corporal?" Pte. Dan Keenan asked, breaking Lockett's train of thought.

"Hard to say DK," Lockett replied to the 17 year old farm boy from Iowa using his nickname. "Squidheads've been quiet lately but they're out there for sure." Squidhead, or squids, had become a slang expression for the aliens as was 'rastas', referring to the long dreadlock-like tentacles that extended from some of their heads. The nicknames demystified the unusual foe as the defenders moved from shocked surprise to gritty determination.

Seeing the nervousness in the teenager, an E-1, a kid really, who'd only been in the Corp less than four months, Lockett added, "Don't sweat it man. Just stay alert, watch your corners and everything'll be okay."

After the battle to secure the Golden State Freeway ramp and set up a staging area for counter-attack at Whiteman Airport, with Staff Sergeant Nantz being wounded and the number of overall casualties a large-scale reorganization had been necessary within the 2-5. Imlay and Doc had been placed in a platoon of the reformed Echo company, Santos' battle experience had gained her some recognition so she'd been made a FAC, Forward Air Controller with an Air Force reconaissance and identification company calling in close air strikes while Harris and Lockett now served in F company.

The Marines, with the Nevada tanks and Air National Guard support, had been able to successfully push out from the airport achieving a solid foothold in San Fernando. The task had been tough slugging though, street by street and house to house at times. They'd made headway but it had been exhausting work the past week.

Reinforcements had begun to arrive from different parts of the country which helped but the 2-5 Marines continued to be at the forefront since they had the most experience fighting the aliens.

Lockett and Harris' platoon were on an advance to contact mission. That meant they pushed forward along the route they'd been given until they met up with the enemy. Moving carefully forward into 'Indian territory', or hostile land, the soldiers tensely scanned all around for movement, listening with strained ears for the now-familiar chirp of the aliens communicating or worse, the whine of their weapon systems spooling up.

The platoon commander raised his hand to call for a halt. The Marines immediately went down on one knee forming a defensive perimeter while the officer took out his binoculars to survey the territory to their front.

The platoon was led by 1st Lieutenant James 'Flash' Gordon. Gordon had been an NCAA champion sprinter at Florida State University and a favorite to represent America at the 2008 Olympic Games in Beijing. But a torn hamstring in the quarterfinals of the qualifying meet ended his athletic career. The muscular African-American joined the Marines after he'd recovered, going to Officer Candidate School and excelling in the competitive environment. Though a firm disciplinarian, Flash Gordon also had a good sense of humor and led fairly so was respected and liked by his troops.

Surveying the route of their advance Gordon saw something he didn't like. He knew there were still aliens in the area yet they'd had no sign of them thus far. It seemed like a recipe for ambush and the location to his front seemed to be the prime ingredient. Moving through a residential area they had been moving past a series of low rise apartment buildings. But to their front, about 200 meters away, two four story apartments across the street from each other had been blown up in an earlier battle. Brick and debris spilling out onto the road caused an impasse leaving only a narrow path through to the other side and the Marines' objective.

Yes, it seemed a perfect place for an ambush.

Bringing his squad leaders up Gordon gave them the plan. "Lockett, your team has point, Harris, support. The rest of the platoon will follow then fan out once we're past the bottleneck, you hold the opening then bring up the rear," he ordered. "Lets get it done Marines."

"First squad on me," Lockett announced bringing his men in for a quick huddle. "We're moving forward. I want the SAW covering our advance then rolling up with us in bounds." Pointing to the obstacle he added, "When we hit the choke point we go through single file, reform on the other side, then provide a blocking force for the rest of the platoon. DK you stay on my butt. Watch out for Squid Heads, and watch your intervals, don't bunch up, keep moving," he rattled off, tension rising. "Okay, let's go."

With the rest of the platoon waiting for them and Harris' squad providing fire support, the Marines spread out then moved fast towards the barrier to their advance. Each could feel their bodies tensing as they got closer, expecting, almost willing, the anticipated attack to come so they could unwind.

Running down the debris-strewn road Lockett hit the opening first and found cover. He looked, saw nothing, then listened and heard nothing other than his pounding heart. He let out a breath he'd seemed to be holding since he left the platoon. Carefully moving through, he found a position behind a burned out car to provide cover for the others. One by one the remainder of the squad threaded through the obstacle and fanned out. Harris' squad came through next, movingd up and through to a new postion with the rest of the platoon following. Tension dropping, Lockett smiled in relief at the sweating DK who seemed tiny under all his gear.

"Nothing," Lockett said with a chuckle, taking a moment to relax, "all this fuss over nothing. Lets…"

But the words froze in his mouth as he heard the familiar whine of an alien machine gun spooling up. Caught totally off guard he searched for the words in his stunned mind to yell out a warning.

"Nine o'clock!" a kneeling Marine a few yards away yelled before disintegrated in a shower of grenades.

The earth errupted around the platoon as aliens emerged from their hiding spots. They'd timed it perfectly allowing half the group to move through the barrier with the rest left behind effectively cutting them in two. Lockett let loose with his M4A1, dropping an alien that had exposed itself to attempt a cross fire. Several more grenades rained down but his squad had been put into good position. Harris' team responded but had moved too far forward and were cut off. Now pinned down, Lockett could see this but wasn't able to respond. Lt. Gordon and the remnant were hard pressed trying to make it through the obstacle. If something wasn't done they'd be chewed up piecemeal.

Another Marine Lockett had only just met two days ago cartwheeled through the air landing with a dull thud on the hood of the car he'd been kneeling behind. The hard pressed soldier could see a trio of aliens moving to cut him off so rather then fire he ripped an HE grenade off his tactical vest and chucked it in their direction. The aliens had been caught moving so took the full effect of the explosive charge, shreding them.

Lockett saw his chance to link up with Harris and shore up their defenses. "DK!" he yelled at the rookie, "you're with me. We need to reposition and help Harris out."

"All right corporal!" the excited rookie yelled out, immediately starting to move.

"No, wait man until I tell you!" Lockett screamed.

The warning came too late. The grinning farm boy from Iowa, overcome with the adrenaline and excitement of combat, stood straight up, eager to fight and was shot through the head.

Lockett saw the round enter through his face and expode out the back.

"Medic!" Lockett roared in agony as the teenage soldier's lifeless eyes stared at him in shock. Unconciously switching his M4A1 to full auto he emptied the clip towards the attacking aliens doing no damage.

The situation seemed bleak for the pinned down platoon. They'd been caught in a pincer movement by the enemy who now were systematically squeezing it shut.

Rescue came from above before the alien plan could be put into full effect. A pair of Apache helicopters suddenly roared overhead loosing a salvo of Hydra 70's. The rockets slammed into the main party of attacking aliens with the resulting explosion causing the area to boil with fire.

Banking sharply left and right the deadly choppers came out of their tight, co-ordinated turns to rake the alien ranks with lethal fire from their 30mm chain guns. What seemed like a hopeless situation turned on a dime to the Marine's favor due to the head's up thinking of Lt. Gordon who'd called for air support once the first squad had moved out.

The aliens retreated knowing they didn't stand a chance against the superior firepower, having to be content with the damage they'd done. Firing at the helicopters as they withdrew, the invaders had to contend with them nipping at their heels in return like a pitbull.

Gordon's platoon was in no shape to continue the advance with numerous men down, dead or wounded. The call went out for medivac support and Echo company moved through Foxtrot's position continuing the advance.

Imlay saw Lockett, head in his hands weeping beside the still body of the pimple-faced Marine. He didn't stop, giving his friend some space but did catch Harris' eyes as they moved forward to secure a new position –advance to contact.

Fist-bumping each other, Imlay could only say, "Keep an eye on him."

"Yea," Harris acknowledged, "you watch out for yourself bro."

"You too. Stay healthy man," Imlay returned. "Cherise is out there and she still wants to marry your sorry ass."

Harris flashed a toothy grin but the comment both stabbed his heart and caused it to soar. Cherise would be waiting for him, looking for him, if….

He wouldn't go down that path.

The brief exchange was lost on Lockett. Wiping a grimy hand across his face he stood up to begin reorganizing his section. The show must go on. But in a flash an unexpected burst of emotion hit him like he'd never experienced before causing him to almost buckle over. He'd lost men today, in fact his whole fire team, all four men including a kid just out of boot camp, were either dead or wounded and he was walking away without a scratch. Hurt, surprise, frustration, rage and intense sadness all bombarded Lockett at the same time as he watched two Navy corpsman prepare to carry DK's body away.

In an instant he suddenly knew exactly how Staff Sergeant Nantz felt.

While Lockett was having his revelation and beginning to understand the no-win situation of war at times Mike Nantz lay in his cot in the hospital ward as he'd done the past week thinking. He had begun to move around and do some rehabilitation but only in short bursts. That left him with a lot of free time on his hands, not a good thing for a guy with ghosts haunting him.

Inevitably his thoughts went back to Afghanistan a year earlier and the men in his platoon who'd been killed on the rescue mission. A rescue mission, just like the one less then two weeks ago-filled with a lack of information and impossible odds.

When Mike had held onto a dead Hector Rincon that night at the Santa Monica Airport he'd been taken back to that mission where he'd watched another group of helpless civilians he was supposed to protect die…where he'd watched Sarah die. His men dying in that compound, trying to save those who were already dead, was just the icing on the cake. Oh yes, he has a lot of ghosts keeping him company.

He needed activity.

"Good morning sleepyhead!" Michele greeted him playfully walking towards his bed.

"Huh?" Mike replied in confusion since she'd interrupted his thoughts.

Seeing the brooding look on the face of the man who'd saved her life the veternarian now turned medical assistant felt her heart pull yet again. "I heard we're making good progress in retaking LA plus the report is the alien command and control ship in New York has finally been destroyed," she reported, trying to shift the mood.

"That's great," Mike responded grumpily.

"Is there anything I can get for you?" she asked compassionately.

"Yea, you can get me out of this place!" he shot back.

"What? No, you're not ready, you need to heal," the dark-haired woman testily responded, reeling from the declaration.

"I need to get out of here and get back to my troops," the Marine declared. Seeing the look of hurt in Michele's eyes Mike paused then tried to explain, "Listen, I appreciate everything everyone's doing. I appreciate everything you're doing," he added, avoiding her stare. "Its just I feel so useless here. There's a fight going on out there, its not just a fight for ideas or even our protection like we've been doing with these terrorists. This is a fight for our survival. I have to be part of it," he revealed passionately. Can you understand that?"

"I can. I do see Mike," Michele answered, her heart filling with compassion for the frustrated man. "Its just…," she wrestled with her thoughts, "Its just…," she couldn't say it but then she realized how things could change in an instant, how her caution had caused her to lose so much. She wasn't about to lose him to the same insecurity.

"What is it?" Mike asked tenderly seeing the turmoil, causing her heart to melt.

"I can't lose you Mike," Michele admitted breathlessly. "I…"

"So how are we feeling today Staff Sergeant?" a heavy-set National Guard doctor asked, destroying the moment.

Mike and Michele pulled back more emotionally then physically as the distracted MD busied himself with his examination. But something had been about to happen between the pair, they stood on a precipice needing only a nudge. It seemed it wouldn't happen this day.

"Good. Yes, very good," the doctor said more to himself then to Mike going over his charts. "You're making great progress."

"When can I get back on the line?" Mike blurted out in exasperation.

"Combat?" the doctor asked in shock.

"Yea, when can I get back to my men?"

Michele felt her jaw drop and blood run from her face at the request but held her tongue.

"Well, its hard to tell," the doctor answered awkwardly. "You're making good progress but we need to make sure you're okay before you're cleared. Besides, many with the nature of your wounds don't return to active duty."

"Well I'm not one of those ones doc," Mike retorted. "There's a war going on out there and I don't intend to lay around here on my butt longer then I have too. You tell me what I need to do, I'll do it. But don't tell me I'm not going back because I am."

The doctor shook his head in surprise and admiration at the Marine's determination. "All right then Staff Sergeant, we'll see what we can do."


	10. Chapter 10 Balance

**CHAPTER 10 – ****Balance**

The Marines sat quietly in the shadows of an abandoned Laundromat whose windows have been blown away. The battered platoon picked away at their MRE's mainly to kill time since few had any appetite after the bloody attack they'd endured less then two hours earlier. The rest of the company had moved through their position with them bringing up the rear. A halt had been called at the front so the soldiers took the opportunity to rest. Unfortunately a lack of action also meant an opportunity to rehash what had happened. Few talked about it, most brooded alone, a weight of burden that survivors often bear increasing by the minute.

Their leader could see this and knew what had to be done. Moving away from his troops he put in a call to headquarters. Several minutes later he called the men together.

"We're coming off the line," Lt. Gordon announced to the battered platoon a look of relief on his tired face. "Forty-eight hours of R-and-R in the rear area. Choppers'll be here in an hour for us."

The men let out a cheer at the unexpected revelation, happy for the brief respite from the intensity of combat.

All cheered except Jason Lockett. He scowled at the news while fidgeting with his weapon.

Gordon saw this so casually made his way over to the brooding corporal. "You okay Lockett?" the observant officer asked.

"I don't need to step down, I want to stay in the fight," Lockett shot back testily.

"You going out and getting yourself killed isn't going to bring them back corporal," Gordon surmised correctly.

Lockett slumped in defeat at the correct observation. "But I got men killed sir. I owe them…"

"What? Payback?" Gordon retorted. "Leave that for the gang bangers and the movies son. That's not professional and it not what Marines do. Listen to me very carefully. You didn't kill them, the Squids did. You did everything you could."

"They're still dead," Lockett murmured, tears filling his eyes.

"That's war," the compassionate officer responded, sitting down beside the crumbling Marine. "You can't control that, any more then you can control the circumstances. Do you know what the measure of a man is Lockett?" he asked to distract him.

"I don't know sir. What we do? What we accomplish?"

"No, that's what the world would say. That's what advertisers would say when they try to sell you something. The true measure of a man is what they do with the things that happen to them. You can't control what happens to you but you can control what you do with it. Does that make sense?"

Lockett reflected on that for a minute then he nodded his head, a spark coming back to his eyes. "Yea…yea, it does. Thanks sir."

"All right," Gordon clapped him on the shoulder, "let's get the troops ready to move."

Mike lay in his bed idly flipping through an issue of Sports Illustrated that was making predictions for the upcoming college football season. _Guess that's not going to happen anymore _he thought to himself. _Just one more change, one more thing lost._

A television set in the step-down unit of the hospital he'd been moved to blared on incessantly with updates on the war and armchair analysts giving their predictions about what the future held. Mike had been placed there to recuperate and prepare for a return to active duty. Though continuing to suffer bouts of terrible pain from his wounds, he didn't let anyone know since he knew if they realized how shaky he was they'd never let him out.

He spotted the now familiar tousle of dark hair come bobbing into the ward signaling Michele had arrived for a visit. Her working in the field hospital had meant she'd been able to see him every day, often several times. Despite reservations about his feelings, and discomfort about how she seemed to feel about him, the visits were a welcome respite from the grind of physiotherapy and the drone of the TV and war updates. He began to long even for Jersey Shore, or Dancing with the Stars, anything that would signal a return to their prior, insulated, mundane way of living. No more, everything had become practical, utilitarian.

Despite the fact only costal areas of the US had been attacked the impact had been catastrophic for the whole nation. The stock market had plunged to its lowest levels in 100 years forcing a shut-down until the situation could be stabilized. Panic caused a run on banks and food supplies had started to become scarce. A large-scale mobilization of domestic National Guard and Reserves units further interrupted an already fragile economy. Attempts to bring troops and equipment home from overseas deployment had been temporarily halted when the returning 7th fleet had been decimated by underwater alien craft. So currently the only troops able to come back were those being airlifted but fuel was being used sparingly due to attacks in the Gulf region so the major response needed to be domestic. The nation stood, but teetered precariously.

"Hi Mike," she greeted him warmly. "I brought someone to see you."

"Staff Sergeant Nantz!"

"Hector!" Mike sat bolt upright in surprise at the appearance of the boy, causing a wave of pain.

The Latino youth rushed over to Mike's bed and crushed him in a spontaneous bear hug, oblivious to everything around him. Mike returned the embrace, basking in the feeling of unhindered affection. They broke but the boy sat at the end of the bed, within reach of Mike, his large brown eyes moist with tears.

"Hey champ, how've you been?" Mike asked.

"Okay. I've wanted to see you for days. I didn't forget, they just wouldn't let me see you," Hector explained, starting to get emotional at the recollection.

"It's alright, I understand," Mike tried to encourage him. "The doc's have been keeping me on a pretty tight leash. So what have you been doing with yourself?"

"Nothing really. Just hanging out with Kirsten and Amy, trying to help out around the camp where I can."

"You're a good man Hector; you'll make a great Marine someday."

"I want to fight," the boy declared passionately.

"I bet you do," Mike agreed carefully.

It would be so easy to patronize the boy, to brush off his fervor but as Mike looked at what was really a young man, he could see the desire to avenge his father, to prove he was a 'good Marine', to do something to help the cause. Mike was reminded anew of why he fought, and why they had to win.

"Some day you might but I pray you never have too because it would mean there is no other way. It's not your time." Seeing Hector slump in dejection Mike added, "But you can fight back in other ways. You can help us and honor your dad by helping in the camp, by helping Michele with her nieces and by continuing to believe we're going to win. Can you do that?"

"I can Staff Sergeant." The boy buried himself in Mike's chest causing the Marine to enfold him in his strong arms. Mike looked past the boy and saw Michele smiling at him, her eyes glistening with tears yet looking at him with an affection that made her more beautiful then he'd even seen her.

"All right Hector. We need to let the Staff Sergeant rest," Michele announced to the disappointment of both. "But you can see him tomorrow again."

"Bye," Hector waved and walked away.

Michele led the boy from the ward but suddenly stopped and ran back to Mike. She whispered to him, "He needed that," then, without thinking, kissed him lightly on the cheek. Turning red with embarrassment she strode off without looking back.

"So did I," Mike whispered back, feeling a tingling sensation on his cheek. He watched the pair leave passing an officer in camouflage utilities with a clerical collar who'd been standing a few beds away. The clergyman watched intently with a raised eyebrow and amused look on his lean, tanned face.

"Father Alexander!" Mike cried out in surprise at seeing the priest.

"Hello Michael," the priest responded walking over to his bed and giving a firm handshake with one hand and patting the convalescing Marine on the shoulder with the other.

"You're alive," the square jawed man exclaimed, still unable to believe what he saw.

"So it would seem. The Lord hasn't seen fit to call me home yet."

"How?"

"Did I get out?" Father Alexander asked. "I left Pendleton in a support convoy just as Mainside came under attack. We were moving to assist the troops being deployed to protect San Diego….it wasn't a pretty sight." The priest shook slightly and made the sign of the cross as he seemed to recall what had happened. "Anyway, once that fell apart those of us who remained made our way here kind of like Moses and Israel going to the Promised Land." A twinkle returned to his eyes and he added, "I'm glad it didn't take forty years!"

"I'm glad too," Mike agreed, emotion rising in his voice.

Father Alexander smiled at the tough Marine with genuine affection. "So I can see you're recovering and the doctor has told me you're wanting back into combat as quick as you can."

Mike nodded in agreement at the recap but avoided the piercing eyes of the priest.

"That certainly fits with how I know you Michael so rest assured I wouldn't try to talk you out of it," the priest confirmed. "In fact I think it's a noble thing you want to do. You're a good man."

A tear rolled down the stoic Marine's cheek at the compliment.

"Anyway," Father Alexander continued, "we're in a war now, certainly not one we expected which is ironic considering we're only a few weeks away from the 9/11 anniversary but I'm becoming overly reflective, " the priest admitted, "there'll be time for this when its all done."

"Do you think we'll even be around if that ever happens?" Mike asked with a sense of hope. "Do you think we can actually win?"

"Of course, with God all things are possible," Father Alexander replied right away. "And besides, we have men like you fighting for us. How could we lose? We may be battered but we're not broken." Seeing again the humble man's discomfort he smiled broadly and chuckled at the reality of his statement. "I've been hearing some wonderful things about you Michael, how your efforts have helped the war effort, even turned the tide in our favor. I hear talk of a medal for you."

Mike caught himself halfway through a swear word in reply before checking himself before the priest. Instead he responded through gritted teeth, "Yea, big hero. I got a whole bunch more kids and civilians killed."

Father Alexander sat down on the anguished man's bed then put a hand gently on his arm. "My dear Michael, this is not a burden for you to bear. You did the best you could with what you had. You saved many lives at a time all of you should have died by rights. You did not kill them, our attackers did. You did not look for this fight but you're fighting it." He paused to let the words sink in. "This is not Afghanistan and this is not your fault. You need to dismiss the ghosts from your past. Step out of the darkness which consumes you son and live in the light. Can I pray for you?"

"Sure," Mike replied, struck by the statement the honest priest had made added, "I think I'd like that."

For several minutes Father Alexander prayed passionately for peace and a return to joy for the troubled soldier. He asked for healing for his mind and spirit along with protection in the days to come. Wrapping up the heartfelt prayer he gazed with a warm smile at Mike's tear-stained face and declared with a grin, "Now that that's done, let's talk about Michele."

The powerful blades of the twin-rotor Boeing Sea Knight helicopter continued to kick up irritating clouds of gritty sand as they slowed to a stop. The Marines exiting the helicopter looked away trying to shield their eyes from the flying debris. The remnants of Lt. Gordon's platoon moved towards the base, eager for a shower, hot food and a bed to sleep on. Most though were more excited by the chance to rest for a couple of days from the relenting pressure and pace of combat.

Cpl. Harris rhymed off the things his troops needed to do while thinking how good a shower would feel, making sure the soldiers were taken care of but they didn't get sloppy in the rear area. The key that had been drilled into him was to stay sharp and stay focused even when resting.

"Kevin…Kevin Harris…." A female voice called above the din of activity causing him to stop dead in his tracks. Harris turned to where the voice had come from, something registered within the recesses of his spirit, then began to well up within him, hoping, praying at the same time yet terrified to be incorrect.

It was Cherise.

Forgetting his discipline, his job, forgetting the world around him, Harris ran to his precious fiancée openly weeping before he met her. She had tears filling her eyes as they met in a fierce embrace. Then Harris began to strip off his kit and tactical vest to hold her closer, not wanting any barrier between himself and his beloved. The pair hugged and kissed while Harris howled in delight at the unexpected reunion.

Lockett observed the tender scene, happy for his friend, yet he had a strange feeling in his stomach.

"It's what you do with it corporal," Lt. Gordon said to him as he passed by, not waiting for a response.

The man torn by guilt and grief paused to think about the statement and the conversation he'd had earlier with his platoon commander. He made the choice to move on, to fight the enemy of humanity rather then fight against himself. Lockett felt peace within but also knew there was something else he had to do to make things right. Shifting his gaze to the temporary buildings set up at the base he spotted Imlay and Doc motioning him to join them. A smile, bright as the sun, lit up his handsome face and he jogged over to join his friends.

"How? How did you get out?" Harris asked his fiancée, still not daring to believe this to be true. "I mean LA was leveled. What happened?"

"Me, Kathy and Laura were at the mall when the evacuation order came out," Cherise began, stepping back to gaze at her beloved. "Kathy knew a back way when the freeway was jammed up so we were able to get out before things got bad. When I heard later on what had happened to Pendleton and Santa Monica Airport I thought…I thought…," her voice began to break with emotion and she couldn't finish.

"You thought I was dead," Harris answered, removing his tear-stained glasses to clean them.

"Yes," Cherise agreed with a whisper. "We ended up at the refugee camp next door to this base. But then we heard about what you and your team did," she perked up. "You guys were amazing. They say you saved the whole West Coast with what you did."

"Well I don't know about that," he replied modestly, "we just got lucky."

"Where's Stavrou? Is he okay?" Cherise asked.

Harris' face dropped at the question. "No, he's dead," he choked out, collapsing into his fiancée's arms finally able to grieve the loss of his best friend.

Lockett, Imlay and Doc enjoyed some hot food, joking with each other as they recapped all that had been going on of late. To an outside observer the trio, as with most of the soldiers in the mess hall, were sharing in some macabre humor but for the combat veterans it was a way to release the tension and keep from going crazy because of what they'd been facing.

A television played in the background as the group spoke. None paid attention to the special report from CNN taking place on the outskirts of LA as a handsome, tanned man in a blue sport coat confidently spoke into the camera with the destroyed city in the background. "…want to commend the military for their efforts to retake our beloved city. With the gains they've made its time to re-establish civilian government over the area and not military rule. So with the authority of the President and the sanction of the governor I will oversee the reforming of proper governance and the renewing of infrastructure to the beleaguered people of Los Angeles."


	11. Chapter 11 What is a hero?

**CHAPTER 11 – ****What is a hero?**

"And we're off the air," the cameraman reported as the red light went out.

"Well done senator," the female reporter complimented the handsome man who stepped away from the camera. "I appreciate you taking the time to share your thoughts with us. I'm sure it'll be encouraging to the people watching."

"Thank you Terry," Senator Garry Sharpe replied smoothly, flashing the attractive reporter wearing a tailored business suit that complimented her figure a toothy smile. "Hopefully we'll get a chance to see each other more during the days ahead," he declared flirtatiously, then added, "Since you'll want to report on the progress we make at re-establishing proper authority."

The CNN on-air personality giggled with delight at the boldness of the man, allowing her own gaze to linger on the magnetic politician.

Despite the breeze Sharpe's professionally-groomed hair stayed in place. Two aides scurried forward, one with a bottle of cold ice tea, the other with a dossier of information on the state of the city. The man's bodyguards looked impassively outward through their dark sunglasses though any threat seemed unlikely since they were well back from the front line. Several other handlers plus his personal stylist stood off to the side chatting idly.

"All right everyone, its time to show these people who's boss," Sharpe announced to his entourage, confident he'd made his point clear in the television interview that had gone out across the nation. The party loaded into four dark SUVs and began to drive towards the military's forward operating area.

Gary Sharpe's business skills had always reflected his name. The middle-aged man with graying temples had proven himself extremely shrewd as a merger-and-acquisitions specialist before entering politics. Some saw the multi-millionaire as a corporate raider, one who would buy undervalued companies then break them up and sell the components like someone stripping a car for its parts. But none could question Gary Sharpe's success. Originally a lawyer, he'd steadily built a significant empire, becoming one of the richest men in California. Bored with the business world he turned his sights onto politics, his next area to fix. He'd swept into office the previous election through a brilliantly run and well-funded campaign. Unfortunately for the man used to getting his own way, he'd found his influence less then anticipated due to the presence of the senior senator for the state, a respected and wise long-serving member of congress. So Sharpe had to wait for his opportunity to shine.

It came the day the aliens began their invasion.

The senior senator had been in the city along with several other key politicians for the state at a summit on poverty and violence called for by the mayor of Los Angeles while Sharpe had chosen to attend an industrialist's convention in Los Vegas. When the initial attack had happened the political leader's had moved to the area of initial assault to assess the situation and lend support. But when the attack had escalated their convoy became overwhelmed by the surging aliens and all were killed leaving a vacuum of power.

Thus opened the opportunity Gary Sharpe had been looking for.

Hector sat wide-eyed on the edge of Mike's bed, soaking in the atmosphere of his hero. They'd been talking in general about things that interested them and found surprisingly despite their age and background difference a lot in common. They liked to make models, liked baseball and loved hot dogs with mustard. The list went on and on. But the Latino boy could sense the time coming for him to depart so his mood became dark. "I miss my dad," he announced sullenly, changing the conversation and its tone abruptly.

"I can imagine you do," Mike agreed, not wanting to downplay the boy's emotions. "Still, you're lucky in a way."

"What do you mean by that?" he retorted, stung by the seemingly insensitive comment.

"You had a lot of good years with your dad and he taught you a lot of valuable lessons that'll help you with life. I didn't know my dad and I sure didn't get anything of value from him," Mike confessed. "So yea, in a way you're lucky."

"You didn't know your dad?" Hector asked, intrigued.

"No, he took off when I was real young. Not like your dad who was a hero."

"He was wasn't he?" Hector agreed, leaning in eagerly.  
>"Yes he was and his spirit is with you Hector," Mike declared. "He's shown you a path to follow. The best way to honor him and his memory is to live with the same values of courage and sacrifice he displayed. Do you understand?"<p>

"I think I do," Hector answered then paused to reflect a moment. "And I'll do my best to live that way, no matter what."

"That's all anyone can ever ask of you son," Mike replied, unaware of the last word he'd slipped in, being engrossed in the conversation.

The pair sat chatting with each other for the next half hour despite the need for the boy to leave the wounded Marine to rest. Several times a nurse came to check Mike's signs but left not wanting to interrupt the cathartic moment. Everyone in the ward knew Hector's story by now and could see the good that came out of him spending time with the gruff soldier. On the flip side, many were beginning to see a side of Staff Sergeant Mike Nantz they'd never thought existed.

One of the keenest observers had been Michele, who'd often been around the periphery during the pair's time together. While not listening in on their conversations she'd watched the body language and the tender care the hard-as-nails soldier showed to the orphaned boy. With every occurrence her heart became at greater risk of being given over to this hurting man. Strangely, she seemed ready to take the plunge.

The conversation between the boy and the Marine continued on until a new arrival brought it to a close.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" a surprised Mike greeted the Marine who awkwardly stood before them.

"Hello Corporal Lockett!" Hector greeted the man warmly.

"Hey little man, how's it going?" he returned the greeting, patting the boy on the back.

"Okay," Hector answered. "How about you? Are you killing lots of aliens?"

Lockett's expression clouded and he seemed unable to answer the simple question.

Mike caught the shift and knew something was wrong. "Listen Hector, can you give me and the corporal some time for a bit? Why don't you find my nurse and let her know she can poke me again like she's wanted to do for the last half hour."

"Okay," Hector agreed cheerfully, unaware that he'd been dismissed.

"Good to see you Lockett," Mike greeted him, extending his hand as the boy left. "What brings you here?"

"Platoon got pretty banged up yesterday so they took us off the front to get some rest and refit," Lockett answered woodenly, eyes going glassy.

"How about you though?" Mike asked, having an idea where things were going. When the expressive soldier stumbled for words he added compassionately, "Are you okay Jason?"

"I…I lost some men out there…it shouldn't have happened…happened so fast…did everything I could but they're still dead," Lockett rambled, his voice choked, "and now I know what it feels like. I…I judged you wrong Staff Sergeant, about my brother, and I want to say sorry," he confessed.

"Don't worry about that. But how are you doing?" a concerned Mike questioned him.

"Terrible Staffs. I can't get their faces out of my mind. I couldn't sleep last night and I don't know what to do."

"I know what that's like," Mike responded honestly. "You have to find peace with it, one way or another Lockett or it'll eat you alive. Its war and that's leadership. Sometimes you can't control what happens around you but you can control what you do with it when it does."

"Sounds like good advice," Lockett admitted.

"Yea, my priest gave it to me," Mike responded with a chuckle.

"Whatever," Lockett retorted, thinking him to be facetious."

"No, I'm serious. Father Alexander, one of the regimental chaplains, helped me through my struggle after last year. Maybe you should talk to him."

"I'm not Catholic and I sure haven't been a good man," the tormented soldier mused reflectively.

"You're better then you think I suspect and God is equal opportunity," Mike countered, surprised at what had just come out of his mouth.

"Thanks for that. I do understand now and I'm sorry I've been bitter towards you but the whole thing still frustrates me. I know the mission was sealed, but is there anything you can tell me about how Dwayne died?" Lockett pleaded.

Mike looked at the grief-stricken Marine and his heart twisted into knots. He thought for a moment then came to a decision. "Screw it. A lots changed in the past few weeks so maybe this has too. What are they going to do, throw me in the brig?" he added with a chuckle, deflating the balloon of tension that hung over them. "Let me tell you what happened to your brother…"

The group of soldiers wearing Air Force uniforms avidly watched the view screen set up in their command area in the parking lot of an abandoned grocery store in north LA. All eyes were fixed on a jet bomber that came swooping in to deliver its payload. The sight of a large explosion was joined by a dull thud miles away. The group broke into spontaneous cheers.

"Yes," a balding officer wearing captain's bars did a fist pump. "In your face!"

Elena Santos shook her head in frustration. "This is bogus sir," she complained. "We're supposed to be FORWARD Air Controllers and this is supposed to be a reconnaissance company," the tough female sergeant added. "But all we do is play Xbox here with drones and watch from a distance."

The cheering officer suddenly became sullen at the implied insult. "Listen Tech Sergeant, I know we're not a bunch of big heroes like you for getting into the thick of things. That's not our job, that's for the Marines. We're team players here and all do our role despite how much we'd all like to be on the front line."

"As if," Santos muttered under her breath.

"What's that?" the captain shot back, angry now.

"We don't need to be in the fight but we should be near the fight. That's our job," she countered doggedly.

"Our job Santos is to get the job done. And our success rate is very high, I might add. We use all the assets at our disposal to the best of their abilities. That's success. Plus, we're too valuable a unit to be put at risk. That's a job for the grunts," the thin Air Force officer added with a sneer. Then he signaled an end to the discussion. "We need team players here Tech Sergeant. If you can't follow orders you'll find yourself at a desk in the rear area. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes sir," she responded with a glare but held her tongue.

"Good. I'm so glad that's all cleared up," he answered insincerely. "Now go find me some coffee somewhere."

Mike lay on his bed, hands behind his head on the pillow. He felt content, at peace. Though he still had a fair amount of pain from his wounds the ache that he'd been carrying in his heart seemed to have leaked away. The time he'd been spending with Hector had been a gift. The fatherless boy had been around frequently and it reminded Mike of his time with Grandpappy years earlier. Lockett's apology had meant a lot and the decision to share with him what had happened on the mission his brother died had an element of catharsis. But none of these compared to the feelings stirring in his heart for…

"Hi Mike!" Michele seemed to appear from nowhere at his bedside, he'd been so deep in thought. Her radiant smile and glowing face was worthy compensation for the pleasant thoughts she'd interrupted.

Though both at times had resisted it, they'd become close. Neither was certain if it had been the war, the brokenness in their own lives or a combination of the two but there was no arguing that something seemed to be going on between them. Others had joked about it and initially both had tried to explain it away but now each hoped it to be true.

"So what's up with you?" Michele asked, a look of curiosity filling her expressive face.

"What? What do you mean?" Mike responded with confusion.

"I don't know. You just look different."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No. Actually its like I'm seeing who you really are for the first time since I've met you," she confessed, pushing a wisp of hair away from her face in a way that caused the man to breath heavier.

Mike's heart began to race at the comment. Alarm bells around his heart began to go off, signaling him to pull back from a dangerous place. He chose to ignore them. "Is that a bad thing?" he asked with a note of hesitation.

Ignoring her own protective signals Michele sat down on the bed and oblivious to the other people around them took his hand. "No, it's a good thing Mike," she said with a whisper. Eyes moistening, her lips parted slightly. "It's a very good thing."

Then Michele did something she'd wanted to do for several days. Not caring who saw or worrying about any reaction, she leaned down and kissed him long and hard. And to her great delight he kissed her back.


	12. Chapter 12 Footholds

**CHAPTER 12 – Footholds **

Mike and Michele seemed to lose themselves in each other. As they kissed he grabbed her, pulling the willing woman on top as he tried to drink deep of her love. She responded in kind, pressing closer with a sense of urgency. Their mouths opened and a new depth of exploration opened for them which each gladly grabbed. The world was long gone by this point as the blissful ecstasy of discovery crashed over them like a wave.

"Ahem!"

The sense of being alone in the world shattered though each belligerently held on to it for another moment. Mike and Michele broke their embrace to see Mike's doctor standing over them with an irritated look on his face. Standing behind them was Father Alexander, a look of amusement on his face, especially as he saw the embarrassed reaction of the couple.

Ignoring the breech of protocol the doctor announced: "Staff Sergeant Nantz, you're cleared for a return to duty. You can return to your unit when you're ready."

Less than 24 hours later Mike found himself back on the front being tossed around in a LAV25 as it moved towards battle. Drenched in sweat since the air conditioning unit in the armored carrier had broken down and there was no time to fix it the vehicle felt like an oven. None of the soldiers complained, all were silent with their thoughts as they prepared for yet another battle with the alien invaders.

Mike was fine with that. It allowed him to be alone with his thoughts before he went back into the fight. His thoughts inevitably went back to Michele and their time together the previous few days. The kiss they shared was still indelibly stamped in his memory. He could feel her soft, full lips on his. But when he'd left she'd been edgy. Though supporting him as he prepared to leave and even helping to make sure he had everything before he went back to the 2-5 he could tell she struggled badly with his return to action. He wasn't sure if it was irritation with the situation or with him for his eagerness to go back after the declaration of their feelings for each other. He wasn't sure but it confused him a bit so some doubt began to creep in. Father Alexander had been great. The priest had pledged to watch over her and ensure she adjusted to the new reality. But still…

"We're less than half a klick from the front Staff Sergeant prepare to deploy in the thick of it," the voice of the LAV's commander crackled in Mike's headset.

"Standby people, we're going in hot. Lock and load," Mike ordered crisply.

Thoughts of Michele would need to be put away for another time. The fight was at hand.

Mike had been re-assigned to E company of the 2-5 as platoon sergeant for Lt. Gordon. The two had worked together before in Afghanistan and had a mutual respect for each other. Mike also was happy for the assignment because it would be a chance for him to spend more time with Lockett and help him with his current struggles.

The 2-5, along with armor from the Arizona National Guard and two mobilized Army Reserve infantry battalions were pushing hard to clear alien resistance in the San Fernando area. The fighting had been tough but they'd made steady progress. The aliens had centered their defenses around a water treatment plant at the Los Angeles Reservoir in the Upper Van Norman Lake basin area. They'd taken the time to dig in so had been fighting fiercely to hold the millions of gallons of water it controlled.

Despite being in the carrier the muffled sounds of combat still bled through increasing the anxiety of the men within. An explosion nearby buffeted the heavy vehicle showing a near miss. The engine roared as the LAV came to a stop. Simultaneously the rear ramp lowered blinding the men inside temporarily with the bright sunlight that streamed in, as the armored fighting vehicle opened fire with its Bushmaster 25mm chain gun.

"Let's go 2-5!" Mike yelled, leading the way.

The air sizzled with ordinance flying back and forth around the hotly contested site. Mike led his men past a destroyed Dunkin Donuts shop and away from a burning Chevron station. The rest of the platoon formed up in a defile on the side of the highway facing the reservoir. He had a quick moment to survey the scene. Though a veteran of the 2nd Gulf War he'd not seen this level of destruction before. Several Abrams tanks stood smoldering on the road leading to the highway crossing besides a number of destroyed LAV's. He hoped the men they had been carrying had a chance to get out before hand. Aliens and soldiers lay strewn about the area and small fires burned all around.

Suddenly the air about him whistled and he knew what that meant.

"Incoming!" Mike screamed to alert his men to take cover. The Marines scrambled out of the way just in time. Several more rounds fell in the area spelling disaster if they stayed. "Sir," he yelled to his platoon commander, "they've got our positioned zeroed. We need to displace and find a new area to stage."

looked around and found a better spot for them to move to while the rest of the company deployed. "We'll set up over there, 150 meters. I want Harris with the GPMG to provide covering fire as the rest of the company gets on line."

"We got tanks coming up sir," Mike pointed out, spotting a pair of M1A2 Abrams rumbling into position. In response to the alien artillery barrage they were experiencing the tanks opened fire with their 120mm smoothbore cannons. They seemed to hit their mark since a temporary lull in enemy fire resulted. A moment later a trio of Apache helicopters roared overhead loosing off a salvo of Hellfire missiles lighting up the horizon around the reservoir and water treatment plant.

Lt. Gordon had been listening to his radio on the battalion network. Getting everyone's attention he barked out, "That's what we're looking for people. Time for us to get to work!"

The athletic officer stood up and started to follow the tanks to the other side of the interstate highway. All along the line soldiers rose up and began a mad sprint for the other side.

"This guys a track star," Mike yelled at the men in the platoon referring to their officer, "don't let him get too far ahead of us. Watch your spacing's. Keep moving."

Then before they knew it they were at the other side and hitting the ground. Their timing was perfect because one of the Abrams tanks took a direct hit and erupted like the Fourth of July sending shrapnel in all directions. Watching muzzle flashes from the enemy position they began to engage the alien position with small arms fire waiting for the order to move again. Back and forth they went with neither side gaining the upper hand.

"Staff Sergeant Nantz, on me," Lt. Gordon bellowed above the din of combat.

Mike frog walked down the line, ensuring the men in the platoon were in good position, as he made his way to their leader. "We got orders?" he asked.

"Command needs us to flank around the other side of the reservoir and provide a blocking force," Gordon responded. "There's a big push coming and they don't want the Rasta's to get away."

"Infantry only?"

"That's right," the lieutenant answered evenly. "There's no route for armor, plus we don't want them to know what we're up to. We'll have gunships covering us and we shouldn't have to hold too long."

"What's our route and position?" Mike inquired without emotion though his heart began to beat harder as he ducked since several rockets flew overhead slamming into the road behind them.

"We flank around the dam using a series of service roads then hold a position here," he pointed on the map between the reservoir and Upper Van Norman Lake. Another unit will hold the position north cutting off any retreat. None of them get out, understand? Get ready to move."

A combination of tank and mortar fire came to bear on the alien position creating the distraction the Marines needed to leave their position and get to cover behind the reservoir's dam. Other troops in reserve filled their abandoned position to maintain a continuous front and pressure on the aliens.

Moving fast, the soldiers kept glancing nervously to their right as if expecting the concrete barrier to give way and flood them but other then the anxiety everything went according to plan.

Lockett's squad had the point. He was still a bit shaky after his loses only a few days earlier and now worked with more new soldiers. But he had to put that behind him, he had a job to do. Rounding the corner of the reservoir he began to move towards a concrete berm that would give them cover to their objective but the sight before them stopped him dead in his tracks. "What the heck?" he said a bit louder then he'd wanted to in surprise.

The corporal signaled his squad to take cover. Since they were on radio silence he motioned for the platoon commander to come forward. Mike and Lt. Gordon made sure the platoon was in good position then moved up the line.

Gordon came up fast since there was little time for caution and they were stopping well short of their objective. As if to increase his anxiety the sound of battle intensified on the other side of the reservoir in the area by the water treatment plant.

"What's the hold up corporal?" the platoon commander asked with irritation. "We need to keep pushing."

Then he saw what Lockett had and his mouth came open.

Less then 200 meters in front of them were two enormous bird-like aliens. Standing on two legs with a long hose-like snout the creatures rose nearly 100 feet in the air and seemed to be drinking out of the reservoir. Mike looked around and spotted two more with bloated bellies waddling down another service road towards a gap in the hills that would link them up with Woodley Avenue and a residential area. Along with these unusual things a half dozen infantry caste aliens guarded the pair at the reservoir and an equal number walked along with the ones leaving the scene.

"What are those things sir?" Mike asked in amazement.

"I don't know," Gordon responded in amazement. "None of our Intel has talked about anything like that."

Lockett took a closer look at the reservoir while watching the pair at the side with their long snouts in the water. He noticed them growing steadily in size and then a sick feeling came over him as he watched the water level in the man-made lake drop. "Sir, I think they're some kind of water extractor. Look at the level of the water."

Sure enough, the reservoir seemed to be down to three-quarters its regular volume.

"Man, they're taking our water," Lockett declared angrily. "We need to stop them."

"Makes sense," Lt. Gordon agreed. "That is why they've invaded us and this area contains the most water in the city. No wonder they're holding on to it so tight."

"So we going to take them out?" Mike said more as a statement then question.

"Well, we can't go around them and we're sure not going to let them get away," Gordon responded.

"We need to act fast of those other two will get away."

"Okay, you take two squads and take out that group leaving the scene," the lieutenant ordered Mike. "Pepper them with M203s and take the Predator Short Range Assault Weapon team with you. Hit them hard, don't worry about the escort then we'll rally at the berm a half click up from here," he pointed out. "We'll clear this group out with our SAWs, the AT4 anti-tank gun and mortars then meet you there. Good luck."

"Lockett, Pace, your teams are with me. SRAW team, bring the Predator and come with me too," Mike commanded the groups as he began to move out.

The platoon split up and began to move quickly, not wanting to lose the element of surprise they currently had. Lt. Gordon's job would be easier since they could move along the concrete berm and have cover the whole time. Mike's team, on the other hand, at some point would have to move through open ground to close with the enemy.

The approaching group had luck with them, covering half the ground without being spotted. But then a large explosion where the main battle continued to rage caused not only the Marines to involuntarily see that a pair of A10's had dropped their ordinance onto the alien position but the aliens leaving the scene turned also, spotting the approaching humans. The six escorting infantry caste warriors fanned out, taking position between their lumbering cohorts and the approaching threat.

Mike could hear their weapons spooling up and knew what was coming. "Lockett, Pace, use your teams to keep those Squids pinned down. Grayson," he called to the SRAW team leader, "you focus on those big mothers. Pop a couple of holes in them and see what comes out. Harris, you cover the Predator," he ordered as the Marines moved into position ahead of the first salvo from the aliens. A combination of grenade fire and multi-barreled machinegun bursts chewed up the earth around where the soldiers had gone to ground. In return, they opened up with small arm and their SAW's causing the aliens to duck for cover.

One gangling creature was too late, getting caught in a cross fire between the two squads and jerking around like a spastic marionette before finally collapsing in a heap.

While the two groups battled back and forth Mike moved up and down the line in a crouch, assessing the distance and speed of the retreating behemoths. "Greyson, come on, get it done or they'll be out of range."

The SRAW gunner swore as his loader fumbled nervously to secure the round. Rather then wait for the targeting system to lock on the experienced corporal decided to do a line-of-sight shot since the objective seemed too big to miss.

With a roar the Predator spat out its missile. At 560mph it didn't take long to see his shot had been true. The round buried itself into the round belly of the strange creature. A rumble could be heard inside as the warhead exploded causing the skin to rupture. Water cascaded out of the beast creating a mini flash-flood down the trail below.

Yea!" Greyson yelled. "Reload me."

"It's some sort of water carrier or extractor or something like that," Mike called out as he finally figured out the purpose of the strange creature. He felt a sickening feeling as he realized it was in fact a living creature and not a machine based on the howling death cry emanating from it. He had no sympathy though. This was the enemy and it had to die. "Don't let the other one get away."

"That fat lard ain't go' in nowhere staff sergeant," the grinning Marine replied.

Almost as the words left his lips the gunner and his loader erupted in a ball of orange flame.

"Aliens to the left, 10 o'clock!" a Marine called out urgently as another four infantry caste warriors came out from behind a defilade to their side. Their well-timed attack had caught the group unaware, costing them their Predator team.

Mike had no time to think of the men lost he'd only met earlier that day. "Harris, bring the machine gun on them. Keep 'em off of me. You," he called out to a pimple-faced teenage Marine carrying an M16 with grenade launcher underneath, "you come with me. The rest of you hold this line."

With that he and the young Marine stood up and ran through alien fire toward the fleeing water extractor.

"Staffs, what the hell are you doing?" Lockett yelled as he saw Mike run off but he held his position and adjusted his fire team.

Everything seemed to slow down before Mike. He could swear he saw the alien rounds flying past him. He didn't flinch when shrapnel from an exploding grenade cut his cheek. He had one thing in mind, get that tanker. "Come on kid," he screamed at the Marine whose name he couldn't recall trying to keep pace with him.

Harris was able to keep the newly arrived aliens pinned down with the GPMG and Pace's fire team dropped two more aliens so they got in range for the grenade launcher. The young Marine stopped and attempted to fire at the lumbering beast but he'd forgotten to take the safety off so nothing happened. Then with a yelp he spun around and fell to the ground. A pair of newly arrived aliens had cut the young soldier down with a burst of machine gun fire. Mike dropped prone in one motion as they fired at him and loosed a burst from his M4A1 hitting the lead warrior in the sweet spot. It stumbled causing the one behind to trip giving Mike the chance to drop the second one. He took a moment to do a quick scan of the area to see if there were any other advancing aliens. Satisfied he was clear Mike dropped his carbine and picked up the fallen soldier's M16. Finger on the M203's trigger he whispered, "this ones for you kid," and pulled the trigger.

With a _bloop _it spit the grenade out landing just under the exposed belly. The high explosive charge went off, causing the water extractor to shudder but still it stayed intact. Another round within seconds brought visible cracks and a third grenade caused it to burst at the weakened spot. Once again water exploded from within, showering the area as the tanker collapsed.

Mike suddenly realized he was standing straight up watching the spectacle. Involuntarily he winced, expecting to meet the same fate as the young Marine he'd brought with him. Only then did he realize there was no other shooting in the area. His group had eliminated the other threats.

Lockett trotted over to make sure he was okay. "Way to go Staffs, you the man."

"Big as brass," Corporal Pace commented with admiration still shaking his head in disbelief at what he'd seen.

"All right, we need to look after our dead and wounded and hook back up with Lt. Gordon," Mike ordered awkwardly, not comfortable with the praise or attention, especially when other good men were lying dead around him. "Let's get it done 2-5."

Leaving several men behind to ensure the bodies were looked after and the wounded evacuated the remnant of the group trotted to the position they could see the rest of the platoon already occupied.

Coming up and squatting down beside Lt. Gordon Mike could see they'd been successful at destroying the other two water extractors.

"Well I can see you got it done Staff Sergeant, outstanding work," the officer congratulated him. "I also saw you got hit by their reinforcements. Any trouble with it?"

"We did what we had to do sir," Mike responded stonily, "we had three killed and two wounded though."

"Not your fault staff sergeant, good work," Gordon encouraged him, giving the tense NCO a pat on the back.

"Time for that conversation later," Mike stated flatly. "What's our situation here?"

"We're holding our blocking position," the platoon commander began, knowing not to talk further of the loss of life. He'd been there himself. "So far we haven't attracted any attention. The rest of the company is holding this line to our right. Over there," he pointed to his left, "is the end of the line for the northern battalion."

"So we've given them about a 75 meter gap in the line if they're stupid enough to fall for it?" Mike guessed.

"Prime killing ground," Gordon confirmed, a wicked grin breaking out on his sweat-soaked face.

Less then 30 minutes later the theory was put to the test. With A10 and F15 air support pounding the main alien position, tanks along with LAV-AT's began to surge forward. A group of armored bulldozers broke through the berm the aliens had set up behind. The breach allowed the attackers to surge through pushing the aliens back in disarray.

About twenty tried to retreat through the gap in the line that had been created by the flanking Marines and they were shredded as a result. With no place to go the aliens didn't seem to know what to do. The decision became academic. In less then 15 minutes the remnant were entirely destroyed, pounded by cannon, artillery and rockets from above. None were left standing.

As the Marines and other soldiers moved in to secure the water treatment plant the carnage they observed was unsettling even for the now seasoned combat veterans. Dead aliens lay everywhere, body parts were strewn about. The wounded aliens couldn't be treated by the medics since no one knew anything about their physiology or how to communicate with them so they were left to die. The other observation that stunned most was when looking into the reservoir the water level was down by 1/3rd. They'd launched their attack in the nick of time it seemed.

Alien resistance crumbled with the fall of their fortified position at Upper Van Norman Lake and the water treatment plant of the LA Reservoir. Reconnaissance showed them pulling back to a new defensive line. The advancing Marines and Army troops had a breather as they consolidated their positions and set up a fresh defensive line. Forward operating points were established, supply depots hastily built and artillery and air support locations moved up. Best for them though, they now controlled the whole of the Golden State Freeway which made movement and men and material much easier. They now had more then a foothold in the campaign to reclaim LA, they had a firm grasp.


	13. Chapter 13 Setbacks

**CHAPTER 13 - Set backs**

Mike and two other sergeants, hand-picked from among the combat veterans of the 2-5, sat in the El Dorado Avenue Elementary School that now served as forward headquarters for the battalion, two blocks from the scene of the heaviest fighting. It had been a day since their victory over the aliens at the water treatment plant at the LA Reservoir. The troops had set up defensive positions then enjoyed a rare chance to relax a bit. The three had been taken out of their positions to meet with their battalion commander. After exchanging greetings with the other non-comms Mike sat and relaxed waiting for the coming briefing.

"Atten-tion!"

The men snapped ramrod straight.

"As you were," LCol Ritchie ordered, breezing into the classroom that now served as a briefing room. He removed his helmet then ran a hand through his grey-blond hair. "Outstanding job yesterday gentlemen. That was the way to get it done. I can confirm that with our successful attack all of San Fernando is free of infestation. The 2-5 led the way and I couldn't be prouder." He let the congratulations sink in for a moment before getting to the point of why they'd been brought there. "With their collapse not only in San Fernando but also Reseda and Burbank the aliens have fallen back past Encino, Studio City and Griffith Park which is good. But now the squidheads have been fighting tooth and nail to protect Bel Air and Beverly Hills and command wants to know why," their colonel declared, pointing at the area on the map.

"Yea, we want to know why because there's heat from the rich and famous who don't want their homes wrecked huh sir?" one of the sergeants piped up.

"You expect me to answer that sergeant?" Ritchie shot back testily. "Listen carefully men, there are no soft targets here. We're fighting for our very existence so there's no outside influence coming into play. Everything, and I mean everything, is tactical. Got it?"

The sergeants nodded their heads in agreement at the chastisement.

The colonel, satisfied he'd made his point, continued. "Aliens have set up a surprisingly effective air defense network. They seem to have adapted some of their walking guns and have some sort of artillery forming a triple-A grid. We can't get anything in there to get a good look. Drones, planes, choppers all are getting knocked down and command wants to know why. So we're going to send three teams in to recon the area. You'll hump it in, get eyes on what they're up to and let us know."

"When do we step off sir?" one of the sergeants asked.

"0100 hours. You'll be going in dark. Everyone will be using Night Optical Devices. Three choppers, one squad each. You pick the men from your platoon. Minimal ammo, fighting order only. This is a sneak-and-peak only gentlemen. Get in and get out. Any questions?"

There were none from the gathered NCO's. It seemed a pretty straight forward mission.

"Okay, get it done Marines," Ritchie signaled the end of the meeting. "We need that information to keep the momentum going. Find out what's going on."

Huddling up with Lt. Gordon Mike picked his team. They were all veterans, including Lockett and Harris. Gathering NODs for the mission and beginning to cam up, Mike thought of Michele and wondered what she was doing. He winced in pain as he covered the field dressing on his cheek where he'd taken the shrapnel wound. _Hope she likes scars_ he thought to himself. It only dawned on him then how close he'd been to dying during that fight, especially when he stood up with the M16 to take out the last tanker. That was definitely not something to share with Michele!

Catching a short nap to recharge the batteries and eating a light meal, the men from E company moved out from the school to the Blackhawk helicopters waiting in the parking lot to take them to their drop off point. LCol Ritchie had come out to see them off so he and the three sergeants huddled and went over last minute thoughts on what to do once they'd been inserted.

Tension began to mount as everyone loaded into the helicopters and the crew chiefs gave the signal to their pilots to start up the birds. Two of the three Blackhawks whirled to life in short order but the third one, containing Mike and his section, wouldn't start. He could hear the crew chief swearing then looked to see the pilot and co-pilot flipping switches trying to get the machine to come to life. The other two helicopters stood in neutral, their blades spinning, waiting to take off. Five minutes went by and still nothing. Tension grew and the Marines in the helicopter began to look at each other nervously.

"Hydraulics are shot Staff Sergeant," the pilot yelled back at Mike. "It's a no-go for this bird."

"Then call up and get us another one," Mike shot back with irritation. "We've got a mission waiting for us."

"Nothing available," the pilot responded grimly. "They'll have to go on without you." He then switched on his radio and sent out the bad news. "Dog Pound 2-2 is buster and we are aborting due to mech failure. Dog Pound 2-1 and 2-3, carry on without us."

Mike swore and punched his gloved hand into the side of the helicopter. The other Marines got a sense of what was happening so reacted as angrily especially when the other two Blackhawks powered up and lifted off.

"What happened?" LCol Ritchie yelled as the men from the dead helicopter filed out and marched glumly back to the school.

"Blackhawk had a hydraulic failure so wouldn't start."

"All right. Well they can still carry out the mission with two teams, no problems," the officer affirmed though he too seemed irritated by the set back. "You and your men can stand down. Go get some sleep."

"Is it okay if I stay in the op center and monitor how the mission proceeds, sir? I kind of feel like I've got a stake in this."

"Suit yourself. They should be dropping them off in about a half hour."

Mike entered the hive of activity and threw his helmet against the wall in frustration. A few of the troops staffing the center seemed to notice but none said anything. He grabbed a cup of coffee then sat down in a chair that was better suited for a fourth grader then a soldier in combat gear.

The time went by quickly though nothing of interest could be heard on the loudspeaker turned to pick up the radio chatter between the two helicopters.

"This is Dog Pound 2-1 approaching LZ, everything looks clear for a clean insertion," the pilot reported back. "2-2, flare right for the drop," he ordered calmly to the other pilot. "Wait…wait…what's that? Oh man we've got contact…no we've got multiple contacts coming down on us. 2-2 abort, pull up."

The intense sounds of and explosion and metal crunching assaulted the speakers as people in the ops center tuned in to figure out what was going on.

"Can we get eyes on?" a captain ordered to the team sitting behind computer monitors. "I need a sit rep. What's happening people? Talk to me."

"Sir, Dog Pound 2-2 is not responding and is off-line. I think they're down," an army private responded in a staccato pitch.

"Can we activate their cockpit cameras? We need to know what's going on."

Just then the conversation was interrupted by the helicopter pilot reporting from miles away. "This is Dog Pound 2-1, we have been engaged by hostile aircraft at the LZ. We're falling back and trying to disengage. We need a…."

The sound of another explosion and flash of noise erupted over the speaker. Then it suddenly went dead.

Just before, a technician reported, "I've picked up their camera signature sir and am putting it on screen."

A moment before the pilot signaled his doom, a video image flashed up on the main view screen of the operations center. It showed a pair of alien wedge ships swooping in on the beleaguered helicopter.

Somehow the aliens had been able to re-establish air support.

The attack from the sky came a short time later. Ironically, the death of the Marines who had been on the recon mission served the purpose of warning the forward echelons of the chilling reality that the aliens once again had air support. There was little time to figure out how this happened in the fury of activity to prepare. When the wedge ships came flying over bent on overwhelming the human position they were met by Hawk and AMRAAM surface-to-air missiles. Fortunately for the Marines, and the other soldiers in the area by default, their division commander, Major General Ron Dailey had planned for this contingency despite the foot dragging of some of his staff officers who thought the ordinance an unnecessary burden to carry to the front. Without the air defense it would have been carnage. Even with them, it was a hard won fight. The end result though was forward progress would be checked until the situation could be rectified.

This situation continued on for another week. A sense of stalemate seemed to carry the day. Neither side could gain the upper hand. The humans held the outer areas of the metropolis and the aliens the core.

General Daily began rotating his troops back to the rear area for a brief respite from the constant aerial attacks that had been going. Fortunately the drones did nothing but attack the fortified positions so thoughts of moving around didn't compute in their calculations. As a result, the rear area had become surprisingly calm.

E Company of the 2-5 was one of the first to rotate back and Mike was happy for that. He'd wanted to see Michele, and also Hector, again. Yet as the transport helicopter he flew in drew closer to the rear area he felt himself becoming edgy, like his internal compass was out of whack because of the constant combat. Plus he had been thinking a lot about what had happened when the helicopter he'd been on had malfunctioned. He'd been fuming mad at that, angry he'd not be able to go on the assigned mission. Yet if he had, he'd be dead with the rest of them. That made him edgier though he couldn't figure out why.

Normal no longer felt normal to him so seeing Michele, who he'd done nothing but think and dream about since he'd left, suddenly felt abnormal.

Weird.

"General Dailey, Gary Sharpe, its nice to meet you," the smooth senator smiled as he shook hands with the commanding officer of the 1st Marine Division and overall commander in the Los Angeles theatre of operations. The politician was even more congenial since a phalanx of reporters were covering the meeting.

"You too senator. But listen, this is not really a good time," the career Marine responded apprehensively. "The aliens have re-establish air cover so I'm in the middle of a fight right now."

"Not to worry general. I won't take much of your time," Sharpe blew the busy soldier's concern off. "We're both very busy. I just wanted to touch base for a few minutes so we can discuss the process of turning power back over to civilian authority."

The look of surprise on Ron Dailey's face was obvious to all who were watching. The expressive African American couldn't believe what he'd just heard. He opened his mouth to retort but wisely held it. He'd been the CO of 1st Division long enough to understand the power of the press and the optics of how things were presented. Motioning slightly to one of his aides he met the politician's grin with one of his own.

_looks like another front might be opening. Well, two can play at this game jerk_, he thought to himself.

"Well all right," General Dailey agreed in a friendly tone. "But let's get away from all these distractions so we can talk." He smoothly led the senator through a door into a rear area of the building he'd set up his headquarters. Sharpe's entourage and the reporters tried to follow but their way was immediately barred by the General's aide and a half-dozen armed Marines who showed they were not too messed with. Sharpe's bodyguards tried to bull their way in but they too were repulsed by the soldiers so the group had to wait outside, fuming the whole time.

They weren't the only ones.

Gary Sharpe had expected his staff and the reporters to follow him in and hadn't anticipated being alone with the physically intimidating Marine. General Dailey caught the flash of anger so tried to defuse it. "Easier for us to talk, huh? Without all those distractions I mean?" he clarified innocently.

The senator knew he'd been outmaneuvered but held his tongue. He held the trump card so would wait patiently to show this upstart who was boss. "Good idea," he said magnanimously, opening his arms wide, "now let's get to know each other better so we can begin to work more effectively together."

Mike saw her from behind, walking briskly from one of the temporary buildings in the refugee encampment towards another. Her tousled dark hair blew in the breeze causing a strange feeling inside of him.

"Michele!" he called out in anticipation.

She froze in place, recognizing her name and who had called it out. But instead of turning in a flash and running to him like he'd anticipated she paused, as if collecting her thoughts.

Taking the initiative, he moved towards her. Finally she did face him and he could see she'd been crying.

"Hello Mike," she responded woodenly. Then noticing the bandage on his cheek she added tightly, "You've been wounded…again."

"It's nothing, just a scratch really. Caught a bit of shrapnel a week or so ago," he tried to downplay the injury avoiding the reality of what could have happened.

"I see. Well I'm glad you're okay."

Something in her tone irritated him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it but there seemed a cool reservation that seemed undeserved. Mike already was tense from battle and tormented by thoughts of the men who'd died in the recce incident and how easily it could have been him.

Now this.

He began to wonder if he'd been premature at opening the door of his heart and with this woman. It appeared it might be time for a tactical withdrawal.

"Yea, I am," he responded cautiously. "I just wanted to touch base and say hello. So anyway, I'll see you around." Mike turned and walked away, back towards the base.

"Mike, wait."

Michele herself was a woman torn. The past week had not been easy for her. A thought that had been growing, a hope beyond her relationship with Mike, had been dashed. She began to realize how temporary things could really be. She'd not heard from Mike since he'd left and she'd been worried sick. Then he shows up, unannounced, and with a field dressing on his face. This was becoming a bit much for her to handle. Then there was what had happened earlier in the day.

Mike turned, a look of anticipation on his face in response to her request.

"I'm sorry," Michele began, "you just caught me off guard, that's all. I'm really glad to see you."

Though her words were inviting Mike could see she still kept her distance, kept a buffer zone. Her body language said a barrier now existed.

"Are you okay Michele?" he asked. "You don't seem yourself."

"Myself? What do you expect?" she snapped. "I don't hear from you for over a week, I do hear about the fighting at the front and the aliens now have their aircraft back. I've seen the wounded, heard about the dead, then you show up wounded and say its nothing."

"Hey, I'm sorry. I should have tried to get in touch. It's just been hard and I've been busy. We're in a war," he answered defensively. "We've been pretty busy and not had a lot of down time. But I've thought about you a lot and really have wanted to talk to you. I don't know what else to say."

It's not you Mike, it's me," Michele confessed. "And it's not this. I...something happened today that…" she suddenly burst in tears, looking so helpless.

Mike glided to her side, pushing aside her defenses, to take the sobbing woman in his arms.

"My sister…my sister," she tried to choke out.

"Is she okay? Did you get any news about her?" Mike asked tenderly.

"She's fine. She was here and she took the girls."

"What?" Mike shot out, shocked by the unexpected news.

"They've been okay the whole time. Its just the roads have been closed and there was no communication going out or in. But now they're opening stuff up so she and her husband found me here. I guess we've been in the media so they tracked me…tracked us down."

"Kirsten and Amy are gone?" Mike still couldn't believe it. He barely knew them but for some reason felt the lose severely. Then it dawned on him how she must be feeling. "Oh Michele…are you okay?"

"They stayed the night and then took them away just this morning. Just like that." Then a spark of anger lit in the unstable woman. "Yea, just took them. For over a month I think she's dead and I'm going to have to look after the girls and then she just shows up and takes them…doesn't even say thanks. All she can do is try to get away from here as fast as she can, says it's not safe for them. What about ME!"

"Well, I'm sure they were scared for their kids and for you. I mean…"

"Don't," Michele cut him off. "Don't you try to explain or rationalize this because I don't want to hear it right now."

"Okay, I understand," Mike responded quietly, a bit hurt.

"Oh, and you should try to find Hector," she added, a hint of anger still in her voice, "he has some news for you too."


	14. Chapter 14 Complications

**Chapter 14 - complications**

The sense of urgency in the movement of Staff Sergeant Mike Nantz was obvious to even the most casual observer. With only 24 hours off the line he had no time to waste. He was a man torn though. When he left Michele the irritation and even growing anger seemed pretty obvious but her veiled comments about Hector caused him to panic.

Mike lost his temper with her when she wouldn't tell him exactly what she alluded too so he'd stormed off to find out for himself. Ten minutes later he regretted it but that would have to wait. He checked the infirmary, finding the boy was not hurt, then went to the billet he'd been staying at. The attendant gave him a new address in the refugee city where he could be found.

The camp for the displaced citizens of Los Angeles had grown into a city courtesy mostly of a Christian mission agency called Samaritan's Purse who had come in with the house-tents people were living in. Mike still found it hard to believe that in other parts of the country people's lives had not been touched by the war like his and the people of LA had been. It seemed surreal. But then he realized this was no different then what the people in Iraq or Afghanistan had been experiencing the past 10 years.

A lot had changed in the last month and a bit. Looking over the expanse of tents laid out in neat streets Mike realized there were many thousands of people living in this circumstance, maybe ten-plus thousand. He couldn't really count. Continuing to walk he realized how isolated he'd been in the past. The scene seemed grotesque but only because this was America. If he'd been in Sudan or many other African countries this would be a commonplace site. The thought sickened him. He'd been so self-absorbed in his life the injustice of something like this had never registered. It took it happening in his own country, to his own city and to his own people for it finally to sink in. He thought of Father Alexander and how he'd often talked about how God will try to get our attention. Was this one of those times? He'd have to ask the priest about that sometime.

Finally the philosophical thoughts needed to be put away as Mike arrived at the address he'd been given. A few children played soccer outside on the dirt road but he didn't see who he sought.

Knocking on the flimsy door he called out, "Hector…Hector are you in there?"

A rustle of activity could be heard and Mike almost was bowled over by the young Latino boy who flew through the door. "Staff Sergeant Nantz! You're here!"

The boy gave Mike a crushing hug, hanging on like his life depended on it.

"Hector, como? Que pasa?"

A short, rotund Latino woman with a hard face and hair in a severe bun stood in the doorway, hands on her hips.

"Sorry aunt," Hector apologized, looking away from the woman. "This is Staff Sergeant Nantz, the man I've been telling you about. This is my Aunt Maria."

"Maria Hernandez," she introduced herself with a curt nod. "I am Hector's aunt. His father was my brother. I found the boy and so we are together now as a family."

"I'm sorry for the loss of him. Joe was a good man," Mike responded reverently though a bit put out by her referring to Hector as 'the boy'.

"Si. Gracias," she answered without feeling. "Jose was his own man and he did not listen to reason. But that is behind us now. I am Hector's only relations so I will be looking after him."

"He's lucky to have you looking after him." Mike wasn't sure how much he believed that statement. "Listen, can Hector and I take a walk? I'd like to catch up with him before I have to head back to the base."

The woman's face showed her irritation but she really had no reason to refuse the man who had saved the boy's life so instead she said, "Be back soon. You have work to do."

Gary Sharpe was beginning to become a pain in the butt for Major General Ron Dailey. Not only did the senator continue to pop up with his entourage and press group at the worst possible time but then he'd shown the career Marine his Presidential Order to re-establish civilian authority in the Greater Los Angeles area. The commander of the 1st Marine Division had no problem with civilian governance, he hoped for the return to normalcy some day but the politician had been pressing for it already before the city was anywhere close to being safe. Unfortunately the order had been vague on the timing and terms for succession leaving a lot of room for interpretation. That set up a bit of a power play between the ambitious senator and the no-nonsense Marine who had no time for politics.

Unfortunately for General Daily, Gary Sharpe had found an ally in an ambitious National Guard General. Frederick Gibil had been a career civil servant before his elevation to senior command in the Guard. He'd spent a minimal amount of time in field command, finding he could fast track up the logistical and administrative track so had taken that route. He'd done very well at balancing budgets so had moved quickly through the ranks.

Now that Gibil had latched onto the ambitious politician, some confusion over how to run the campaign already stretched to the max began. Sharpe started making suggestions about military operations and Gibil backed him, even using his influence among non-Marine units to assist the man, creating a growing sense of confusion which had begun to breed hesitation.

So in order to facilitate this new chain of command, Sharpe had insisted on daily meetings to be apprised of the military situation with his new advisor General Gibil, and begin to push for a transfer of power.

General Daily did not look forward to their coming 9am meeting. The night had been difficult with significant casualties from an alien air attack and the continued inability to break out. It seemed their attackers had somehow been able to re-establish some form of command-and-control asset since their drones now filled the air. Though the human forces now knew how to counter them they were stuck in a stalemate. As long as that C-and-C asset remained they couldn't punch out. Something had to be done; unfortunately Daily'd have to waste at least two hours with the simpering politician and his entourage.

"General, we need you to break out of this gridlock you're in," Sharpe opened, sipping on a cappuccino.

"Well sir we're doing the best we can," Daily replied, trying to stay calm. "It'll take time. Are you in a hurry?" he tried to lighten the mood.

"I'd like you to press the front forward so we can begin to repatriate civilians back into these neighborhoods."

The general thought to laugh then saw the politician was serious. "That can't be done. The fronts too unstable to bring people back in," he explained.

"There's a need to begin to return to normal General," Sharpe declared airily. "You contain the fighting to an area so the rest can begin to move forward."

"Move forward?" Daily declared incredulously. "Normal? We're in a war sir. We can't just contain the enemy like some video game and we sure as hell can't guarantee their safety. It would be suicide."

"Well that may be," Sharpe replied, nonplussed, "though there are some military leaders who would disagree with you assessment. But you're in charge for now so we have to defer to your more cautious stance."

"Glad to hear it." Daily shot a withering glace at General Gibil who stood behind the senator with a smug look on his face. 'Gerbil' his staff had started calling the National Guard officer and the tough African-American Marine thought he looked like a rodent right now.

"One more thing," Sharpe added casually, holding his hand out so an aide could place a file folder in it.

"Yes, what's that?" General Daily answered tensely.

"I've read the After Action Report on the attack on the water treatment plant," the senator declared.

"Oh?" the general responded carefully, wondering how he'd gained access to the still classified document but knew immediately when Gibil avoided his look.

"Yes I have and there seem to be some irregularities. It would appear from this that every alien combatant was killed. None were taken prisoner or given the chance to surrender."

"That's not the way aliens fight senator," Daily snorted.

"Yet this would seem inhumane at the very least and a violation of the Geneva Convention at the most."

"You've got to be kidding me!" the Marine finally exploded. "They attacked us without warning, slaughtered thousands of innocent civilians and are not part of the Geneva Convention. This is ridiculous! Whose side are you on anyway?"

"Now calm down sir," General Gibil interjected trying to play the statesman, "that's not what Senator Sharpe meant. Is it?"

"No, of course not," the politician feigned innocent surprise. "I'm surprised you'd think such a thing, but then these are stressful times. I only meant to remind you that we should always be above reproach in this campaign. We don't want to act like them."

"Take the high ground, right senator?" Gibil suggested.

"Exactly General. Thank you. That's exactly what I mean," Sharpe agreed.

General Daily shook his head in disgust. As if he didn't have enough to deal with already. A pain in the butt indeed. Check that, two pains in the butt.

"I hate her Staff Sergeant," Hector confessed, bursting into tears. "She talks bad about my dad all the time. She talks bad about the Marines and how you're messing up all the time. She makes me work and won't let me help at the base like I used to. I don't want to stay with her. Can't you do something about it, please?" the boy pleaded.

"What can I do Hector?" Mike asked. "She's your family."

"You're a soldier. You have power. You could make her let me go," the boy shot back with rising emotion. "I could stay with you or with Michele. I just don't want to be with her."

Frustration grew in Mike as he realized the futility of his situation. Here he was trying to save humanity and he couldn't help this boy. "It's not that simple Hector; she's your family and has rights. I can't just use my power to take you. That would be wrong," he argued unconvincingly.

"You saved me before, why can't you save me again?"

"That was a different situation…different circumstances…it's not the same," Mike tried to counter, feeling completely impotent.

Hector opened his mouth to speak but a desert camouflaged Humvee roared up and stopped beside them.

While the engine continued to run a corporal jumped out of the passenger side. "Staff Sergeant Nantz, I have orders from Colonel Ritchie to bring you back to battalion right away. Hop in."

"But I'm on a 24 hour leave," Mike replied, head beginning to swim with the implications of what Hector had been saying and what now was being requested of him.

"It's been revoked," the corporal explained. "The colonel wants you right now so get in."

Mike nodded his head in agreement. "Hector, I've got to go but we'll talk about this again, I promise."

"Yea, whatever. You do what you have to do," the boy responded sullenly, walking away.

Mike climbed into the rear of the transport vehicle and watched the boy walk with his head down back towards his tent. He swore under his breath as the Hummer began to move. So now not only was Michele mad at him and he wouldn't have the chance to make things right before he went back but now Hector had been disappointed by him too.

Some hero.


	15. Chapter 15 Discoveries

**Chapter 15 -Discoveries**

Mike jumped out of the Hummer and hurried into the battalion command post. He could see those manning the situation room working feverishly so figured another attack was taking place. Maybe this had been why he'd been brought in though he wondered what he could do. He was only one man. He couldn't help Hector and now Michele was mad at him. Mike hoped going back into action would get rid of his lousy mood. He wondered if he died if anyone would even care.

"Staff Sergeant, sorry to have yanked you off your pass but we've got a situation we need you for," LCol Ritchie declared as he walked out of his office towards the man.

Mike threw up a salute then replied, "No problem sir, that's what the Marines are here for."

"All right, good to hear," the senior officer acknowledged with a nod of his head. "The aliens are starting to kick the crap out of us from the air. We're holding our own but if we don't knock their Command-and-Control centre out we won't last."

"So where do I come into the picture sir?" Mike asked, afraid of what the answer might be.

The no-nonsense Marine got right to the point. "We want you to form a team, go into LA and take it out like you did the last time."

Mike waited for the punch line. He looked at the officer and saw he was dead serious. Sure, just like that. Go back into LA, find the C-and-C station and destroy it. The last time had been dumb luck. This time the squidheads wouldn't be so casual about it.

"Sir, that was a different situation. We caught a break. This is a job for Force Recon or Delta, not a bunch of line jarheads," Mike argued.

The colonel looked like he didn't disagree but it seemed this had come from higher. "Well regardless, this comes from General Daily himself. He specifically asked that you lead this mission."

"The Division Commander?"

"One and the same," Ritchie chuckled at Mike's disbelief. "It seems Staff Sergeant Nantz that you have developed a bit of a reputation."

"Okay. I'll do it," Mike agreed, knowing he had no choice but flattered a man like Ron Daily even knew his name.

"Outstanding!" The colonel came over and clapped Mike on the shoulder. "What do you need?"

"Are there any stealth Blackhawks available to take us in? MH-60's I mean. After the last mission I was supposed to be on we need something with stealth capabilities to get us in," Mike stated honestly.

"I kind of figured you'd be asking for something like that," Ritchie confirmed, nodding his head in agreement. "Elements of the 160th Special Ops Aviation Regiment are now operational in this area. We can find one of their birds for the mission."

"Good. If the Night Stalkers are around then we might have a chance to get in since if the squidheads know we're coming we won't even get a shot."

"Agreed."

"In terms of the team, I think I'll take all E company troops. Harris, Imlay, Lockett, Petrie and Chavez for sure. Doc Adukwu as corpman. Then Domingez and Allen," Mike checked off. "I also want someone from Air Force to co-ord the air support and fire mission if we find it."

"Anyone in mind?"

Yes sir. Tech Sergeant Elena Santos," Mike answered without hesitation. "She was with us when we took out the first one. She's tough, knows her stuff and can keep up. Can you find her?"

"No problem. Leave it to me," the colonel confirmed.

"Good. I need the day to assemble and prep the team plus I need all the intel you have on the C-and-C asset and we'll go from there," Mike concluded, nothing left but to get the wheels in motion.

"Well all right Staff Sergeant," LCol Ritchie declared, shaking hands with the man. "It seems like the general picked the right man."

**[Location: US Air Force Forward Observation Company, suburbs of LA]**

"Impossible, you can't have her," the captain argued into the radio, gripping the receiver hard. "I need her for our work here."

"This is not a request, it's an order," the staff officer from the wing on the other end of the line stated. "This comes direct from the theatre commander General Daily. She needs to be at the 5th Marine staging area by 1300hrs so you better get hustling. If she's not…well, you don't want to go there."

The thin, pale man swore as he signed off. He bit his lip hard, causing him to wince. "Santos, get your gear and get ready to move out," he yelled, "you're being called for a mission on the front."

**[Location: 5th Marine staging area]**

Mike watched the Marines checking their gear, laughing and horsing around with each other. You'd never know they were about to embark on a virtual suicide mission. The happiest was Elena Santos who couldn't stop grinning. She'd thanked Mike about ten times for asking for her. And she had come out of a safe rear area assignment and wanted to go back into harms way. Man, did he love soldiers.

Mike only had a few minutes before their more in-depth briefing. He'd given them a head's up of what they were doing and what they'd need so each could start checking gear and then left them to it. With some time to spare he furiously finished writing. He didn't like to write and his penmanship showed it. People had made fun of his writing for years so he did it as little as possible.

But this was different.

He finished two letters and licked the cover to seal them. One for Michele, the other to Hector. He'd tried to explain in the letters what he'd been unable to before, tried to tell them how he felt….

The troubled Marine saw Father Alexander walk towards him.

"Hello Michael," the priest greeted him warmly though tension marked his face.

"You know, don't you?" Mike answered.

"Colonel Ritchie gave me a bit of a head's up. I don't know all the details but he needed to give me a sense of the urgency of this to get me here right away," Father Alexander said with concern. "Thanks for asking for me. Are you okay?"

"Yea, I'm fine. I have these letters. Just in case…could you deliver them for me?"

"Anything you want. I'll give them back to you when you return," the priest said without a tone of optimism.

Mike grunted but said nothing.

"Is there anything I can do for you though?" Father Alexander asked penetratingly.

"Pray for me. Pray that you don't have to deliver them and I can talk to both of them myself."

Ten minutes later Mike assembled his team, feeling a lightness he'd not experienced for a long time. Father Alexander had prayed earnestly and passionately for him and it had made a difference. He began to believe he would make it back, that he would be able to make things right.

But first he had to do this. Many lives were at stake and felt the full weight of the responsibility.

"All right, gather around people," Mike called out to his team.

The soldiers trotted over and settled down quickly, a testimony to their professionalism. He surveyed them and realized just how much he cared about this group, one he was about to put in harm's way. Another perverse reality of war.

"Okay, I've given you the peripherals on the mission already. We're going back into LA, behind enemy lines, so the risk is great. I've picked each of you because I know you can get the job done but this is voluntary so if anyone feels they can't go or has any hesitation, there's not dishonor in that. Let me know and I'll release you." He looked particularly at Santos to ensure she understood where he was coming from.

The perceptive Latino woman caught the thrust. "Its about time you called me back to the fight Staff Sergeant," she countered with a smirk, "I was starting to think you didn't love me anymore."

No one took up the offer to withdraw from the mission though several chuckled at the woman's mirth.

"Excellent. We're going to break into two fire teams. Imlay, you lead the first, Lockett the second. Harris you take the machine gun det along with Petrie on comms, Doc and Santos round it out. Questions about that?"

"So where are we going Staffs?" Lockett asked, ready to get down to business.

"We don't know for sure but best estimates are in the area of Culver City. That makes sense since they arrived at Santa Monica and that's in proximity. We're going to travel light but be prepared to be out as long as necessary since we're not coming back until we get the job done. I'd say be ready for a three day hump so bring enough IMPs. If we haven't found it by then, well…," his voice trailed off and none of the assembled soldiers needed clarification. If they didn't do it fast it wouldn't happen at all and they'd be dead.

"Santos, do you have the strike package codes?" Mike asked, getting back to business.

"Yea, I do," she confirmed, patting a breast pocket in her tactical vest. "Stealth bombers with Tomahawk cruise missiles will be standing by waiting for our signal."

"Well all right then." Mike looked at the group again wondering how many would come back. He wondered if he would be coming back. Putting those thoughts out of his mind he ordered, "get some hot chow in the mess hall, then get some rest. We move out tonight."

Seven hours later, a single Blackhawk helicopter, its noise supression system already engaged, took off with the sound of a whisper from the Marine staging area. Favor was on the side of the human encroachers because as they were loading up in the special ops helicopter thick cloud cover moved in, blotting out the half moon that had given off a low light.

The helicopter took off north then headed east in order to mask its true destination. Then it turned sharp to the west and headed towards highway 405 before dropping low into the Stone Canyon Reservoir, flying low to the ground. Making no more sound then a bat and with lights out, the helicopter was invisible to even those who rode in it. Ninety minutes later they approached the landing zone Mike had chosen, an industrial complex the sergeant had chosen from satellite images that seemed to give good cover. The Blackhawk didn't touch the ground but hovered at three feet, a crewman surveyed the area, traversing his mini-gun back and forth.

All clear, he signaled.

Like wraiths, the ten soldiers hopped out of the chopper and sprinted to their rally point 200 meters away.

Moment of truth time.

Mike braced himself as he sprinted away from the helicopter into the inky darkness wondering if the ground around him would erupt in alien grenade or machine gun fire. But the only thing greeting them was a steady breeze. It was silent as a grave which suited the team just fine.

Then, just as quickly, the Blackhawk lifted off and flew swiftly into the night, lost in a matter of seconds.

The whole insertion had taken less then 30 seconds. They were now boots on the ground and ready to go. Now if only they could find the command-and-control center.

**[US Army Reserve Signals Intelligence Unit operations area, somewhere outside LA] **

"Wait a minute," the soldier said to himself. Adjusting his designer glasses he went back to the screen and tapped a series of keys to run the intercepted alien transmission back. Cutting and pasting the file into a program he'd been playing around with he began to run the algorithms….words popped up and he nearly had a heart attack.

"Sir, I think I have something!"

Army Reserve signals and intelligence specialist 1st Lt. Richard Watson had been trying for over a month, ever since he'd been activated, to find out a way to crack the alien language. They'd been able to intercept their communications fairly quickly but the format, and the language, had been gibberish to everyone so had been of little use. The mobilization order of the Reserve had been compete and across the board, not really figuring in the needed skill set so the SIGINT people from his intelligence company had largely been bored in the rear area.

Not Richard Watson.

While most of his peers had used the time to Facebook and play on Tumblr he had poked away at the steady stream of intercepted communications. Within a day he'd already figured out a pattern existed so immediately starting writing a program to try to deciper it.

Richard Watson was one that to see him would not be a memorable experience. Of mid-range height and slender build, the pale, quiet man would not be one to warrant attention, especially lost as he was in the sea of vibrant soldiers all about. But those who took him at face value missed out on who the man was. 'Ritchie Rich', to his friends, Watson had the distinction of likely being the only Silicon Valley millionaire to serve in the Reserve.

But there was more to the man then just that.

He'd been a brilliant hacker before entering the corporate world and written some of the most sophisticated programs on the planet until 9/11 changed him. Watching the Twin Towers collapse on his laptop that fateful day from his sunny office in California something changed. Suddenly he wanted to give rather then take. He started surfing the net and saw that there was a desperate need for people with his skills to serve in the military. An active career was out of the question. He was dedicated but not that dedicated. Then he found out the Army Reserve had positions in their signals division for people with his unique skills. He could contribute, keep his job and serve on the side. When the recruiting officer found out who he was the man almost had a heart attack. Watson swore him to secrecy in exchange for his service so other then his company commander none knew the reality of who he was. A classic 'geek' but with a brilliant mind, he found surprisingly he enjoyed the work and found it useful.

Now, in the battle for LA, perhaps his greatest accomplishment was about to be revealed. He'd been working on a program to decode and translate the alien language. It was a 'smart' program which meant it learned from itself so would run 24/7 and build on itself.

Weeks later, the first series of words came out.

By being able to backstop the information to intelligence reports and alien movement he could then refine and calibrate the program. He'd told no one about this, and everyone in his section ignored the dedicated man, until he was sure because it seemed so crazy. But then crazy was what launched the Silicon Valley in the first place.

Watson looked at the printout then looked at it again. He'd run the previous days intercepts through the program and it had been a perfect translation into english, 'common', to his Dungeons and Dragons teammates but perfectly legible though the grammar was a bit spotty. He then pulled up the intelligence capture for the day and cross referenced the alien transmissions with what they did.

It was a perfect match.

"Major Swan, you want to see this," Watson called out to his company commander.

The man who ran his group, a computer executive himself who knew the caliber of man the quiet First Lieutenant was, still couldn't believe what he was being told. He called several of the other team members over who at first laughed and thought it was a joke. But then they looked at his program, ran a diagnostic and his supporting data. Suddenly you could hear a pin drop in the room. That lasted about a minute before the room exploded into a hive of activity.

Major Swan reported to the Division Headquarters what they'd found and within a half hour a Blackhawk helicopter along with two Apache gunships were flying 1st Lt. 'Ritchie Rich' Watson and his MacBook Pro to meet with the theatre commander.

Within two hours of that meeting General Daily was already starting to move troops and air defense assets around.


	16. Chapter 16 Politics

**CHAPTER 16 – politics**

**[somewhere in Culver City, LA]**

Imlay frantically flashed the signal back to the rest of the patrol, his eyes showing the urgency in his hand movements. _Hostiles approaching! Danger close!_

Staff Sergeant Nantz responded immediately, signaling the rest of the group to melt into the destroyed building to their right. There were no radio communications since the aliens could pick them up so everything was done by hand signals.

Just in time the soldiers disappeared because coming up the street they'd just been on a column of two dozen infantry caste aliens came marching along the route the Marines had just been picking their way along. They seemed to be alert and looking for something which made Mike even more nervous. This was the third such patrol they'd run into and it wasn't even noon yet.

Once Mike's team had been inserted by the Blackhawk they had moved for several hours towards the heart of the urban community beginning their search for the alien Command-and-Control center. Progress had been slow as the soldiers methodically moved to orient themselves to the reality of the area rather then the theory they'd been shared by the intelligence specialists in the rear area. As dawn came they went to ground to assess the situation and see what they faced.

It didn't encourage them.

The Marines and their Air Force comrade seemed to have slotted into a large concentration of aliens. So either they were in the right location or there were a lot more bad guys around then they knew about. Either way it spelled bad news for the team whose job it was to remain invisible until they found what they searched for.

_All clear._

Imlay's signal came back and the team reassembled.

"That was too close," Lockett voiced everyone else's sentiments.

Yea, that's three groups already," Harris confirmed. "We've got to be close."

"Or else we've walked into some sort of troop concentration," Lockett countered.

"It doesn't matter, we have a mission to get done," Mike reminded them, looking up as an alien wedge ship flew overhead. "This changes nothing, we just need to move more carefully." He looked around, knowing they needed to move out of the open. "We stay in the rubble and get off the main street."

"That's going to slow us down," Harris stated.

"What? You in a hurry to get somewhere?" Mike shot back, breaking the tension. Let's keep moving."

**[Task Force LA administrative support area, well back from the main line]**

The National Guard officer floated around the periphery, making sure people were unaware of his presence. He watched the Reserve Signals Intelligence officer showing off his program to General Daily. The theatre commander clapped the slender, bespectacled man on the back, congratulating him for his discovery.

After another demonstration the Marine officer called his intelligence chief and had a batch of intercepts fed into the programmer's computer. The results came back a few minutes later causing the commander to bark out a series of orders to his subordinate officer.

Somehow this computer geek had cracked the alien language the Guard officer realized. This was huge. Pulling out his Blackberry he tapped a pre-set number.

"Senator Sharpe, there's something happening here you need to be aware of," General Gibil whispered into his phone.

Later the same day, when all the excitement had died down, the politician's entourage pulled up to the Signals Intelligence area where they were met by the National Guard general. The man introduced them to Richard Watson and arranged for a private meeting.

Though the politician already knew about the project he feigned a lack of knowledge in order to encourage the impressionable computer programmer to keep talking. Finally, after three quarters of an hour of technical talk the wealthy senator ignored he was ready to move to the real reason for his visit.

"So you're able to receive and translate," Sharpe confirmed. "But can you translate and send back to them?"

Watson looked at the politician for a moment, unable to process what was being requested. Then the light went on and he got it. "Well sure. I don't see any reason why not," the computer programmer confirmed. "I mean it should be able to work both ways. It would be simply a matter of reversing the flow."

"So we could talk to them then?"

Watson nodded his head in agreement.

"Would you try then?" Sharpe pressed him.

"I'm not sure that's what we're supposed to be doing with this, sir. I mean…" Watson tried to evade the question.

"Don't worry Lieutenant," General Gibil cut in to assuage the man's fears. "I give my full authorization to anything the senator would ask you to do."

"But what about General Daily, sir?"

"Leave him to me," Gibil declared confidently. "Just get to work. If I can figure out what Senator Sharpe is wanting to do, and I think I can, this might just put us into a position to end this war."

"I think we're on the same wave length, General," the senator confirmed, flashing a winning smile.

"Are you sure?" Watson asked enthusiastically, any nagging fear he had subdued by the confident pair. "I mean if this could be used to stop the fighting that would be great. I'll work on it right away. If everything goes the way it should I'll likely be ready to test it out in the morning. I hope that's okay?"

"Okay? Son, that's incredible. In fact, you're a hero," the politician played the naïve programmer expertly. "They'll be writing books about you and studying you in schools if you can pull this off. Oh, but one thing. I'd keep this under your hat. We don't want people to get their hopes up prematurely. Do you understand?"

Gary Sharpe didn't want meddling soldiers ignorant of the bigger picture intruding on his plan. Nor did he want anyone else coming up with the idea and stealing his glory. When this was all over, and people had a chance to look at the whole situation with some depth, they'd see who had shown real leadership. The president had been weakened by this unexpected attack. People already were questioning his management of the campaign. This move would should where true leadership lay and they were close to an election year. Gary Sharpe was ready for the next step in his career.

"I do sir, you can count on me," the young programmer responded enthusiastically.

"I'm sure I can," Sharpe responded with another dazzling smile.

**[somewhere in Culver City, LA]**

"See that over there," Lockett pointed out to Mike. "Those are the same tanker aliens we took out at the reservoir."

The recon team was in cover watching a water treatment plant. They'd thought they might have a lead on the C-and-C area based on the amount of alien activity in the area. But on closer examination they realized this was not what they sought. Still, the realization they did have had a chilling effect on the Marines observing. They sat watching for several hours, unable to move because of the presence of a company of infantry caste aliens that showed up right after they'd gotten into position. Well concealed, they had nothing more to do but watch. What they saw disturbed them. The aliens seemed to be drawing water as fast as they could, moving them to larger cargo drone hovercraft vehicles and flying them away. Where the soldiers could only guess but it wasn't to the ocean.

"Looks like we've got another problem," Mike muttered to his two fire team leaders as the others stayed hunkered down. "It seems like they're really going to town grabbing water."

"Maybe they're getting ready to bug out," Imlay declared hopefully.

"Maybe," Mike answered, unconvinced. "Regardless, this is part of a bigger problem we have. This water plant is tied into the broader grid so that allows them to draw water from the whole region."

The staff sergeant was aware of a growing problem for the people not only on the west coast but throughout America. Consistent reports showed water levels in the country were steadily dropping. At the rate of consumption it would become dangerous, threatening to upset the eco-system if not unchecked. It seemed that if the aliens didn't have the strength to colonize the country they would try to take as much of the water as they could which could prove as fatale for the human inhabitants as the war had the potential to be.

"Do we call it in?" Lockett asked.

"No, we can't break radio silence. Not yet anyway," Mike answered. "We mark it on the map with the details we can, like the one we saw yesterday, and stick to the mission. One thing at a time."

The recon team was into the second day of their mission to find the alien command-and-control center. They'd found several of these water harvesting centers and lots of aliens out and about but nothing that seemed to be controlling their drones. The good news was they hadn't been discovered but their luck wouldn't last forever. They were ten against what seemed like ten thousand. As they watched, another squadron of drones screamed overhead north towards the human position. The urgency of their mission became evident anew and the frustration of what they'd thus far accomplished even more so. As they continued to watch another tanker leave the water treatment plant and be replaced by a fresh one a greater sense of urgency seemed to build. Time, it would appear, seemed to not be on their side.

**[Army Reserve Signals Intelligence Area, outside LA]**

"Are you sure about this sir?" General Gibil asked Gary Sharpe nervously, beginning to wonder if this was such a smart plan. "I mean, shouldn't General Daily be aprised."

"He's in charge of military operations, I'm in charge of civilians affairs, that's how I read the orders. The guys a grunt, a high-paid one, but a grunt. Besides, he's a neandrothol. All he knows is fighting. This is negotiation and that's what I know. If we continue to pointlessly fight it'll cost lives and more money. It's all about communications and give and take. We had no way to talk to them, to reason with them. Now we do. It's going to make all the difference in the world."

"But they attacked us without warning, it's like Pearl Harbor," Gibil dared to challenged. "It doesn't strike me that these are the reasoning types."

"My dear man, it's nothing like that," Sharpe responding with a patronizing tone. "How do we even know what their motivation is or what they wanted? We didn't. Let's talk to them and see if we can't come to some sort of compromise. That is the way of civilized people. Besides, what's the worst thing that happens? We don't succeed and the fighting continues. But if we do…," he let the words hang.

_And we've let them know we can read their language which kills our advantage_, Gibil thought but didn't have the courage to say.

"…we end the war and save all those lives."

_And you become famous and get more power_ the Guard general thought. Too late the man began to wonder if he'd bet on the wrong horse.

"Okay senator, we're ready to go," Lt Watson confirmed, interrupting the conversation. "I've patched the program into our communications grid thanks to General Gibil. We can broadcast as soon as you're ready."

The California politician flashed a toothy smile and winked at the female reporter he'd invited along to witness the potentially historic event. There were lots of rumors about the two of them floating around. It seemed the senator was an effective multi-tasker.

A Guard corporal, who'd been setting up the radio equipment, handed the politician a microphone and quickly instructed him how to transport.

"This is Senator Gary Sharpe representing the government of the United States," he announced into the device that had been tuned into the radio frequency the aliens had been consistently using. "I am authorized to speak to you about ceasing hostilities and negotiating a peaceful solution to the unfortunate conflict we've found ourselves in."

The twin speakers above the computer played the converted transmission and it came out in the chirping gibberish of the alien's language. It had worked perfectly. Now all they had to do was see if anyone responded.


	17. Chapter 17 Negotiations

**Chapter 17 – negotiations**

**[Army Reserve Signals Intelligence Area, outside LA]**

"This is Vizier Bizripp, Thrall of the Zhuntran Advancement. How do you know to speak in our way?" the harsh voice demanded in halting English.

A cheer went up from the assembled at the successful attempt to communicate.

Sharpe waved his hand to silence the crowd so he could hear.

"Quiet!" General Gibil yelled.

"Sir, we have someone very gifted in translating who figured out how to convert our language to yours," the senator answered, giving a thumb's up to Lt. Watson

There was a pause, as if the alien were processing the information. "I see. What is it you want?" the alien leader demanded harshly.

"My government would like to discuss how we can find a peaceful solution to this unfortunate conflict we find ourselves in. If there's a way we could help you with whatever struggle has driven you to attack us we'd like to figure it out so we can help you."

"Help us…hmmm. Perhaps you can," the Vizier responded carefully. "So you are leader of your people? Of a high caste?"

"I am the leader of this particular part of our country but do speak with our overall leader's authority," Sharpe confirmed.

"Excellent. Perhaps we should meet to discuss this further rather then using this device. Are you able to make us communicate with this device leader-to-leader?"

Sharpe looked over at Lt. Watson who shrugged his shoulders but seemed confident he could take it mobile. "I believe we can make that work."

"Then I will accept this term and meet you," the alien responded in a guttural tone.

"I'm honored by the opportunity sir," the politician confirmed, gleefully thinking about what a photo op this was going to be. He began to hear 'Hail to the Chief' playing in his mind.

The pair then worked out the time and location for their meeting. It took more effort then expected since the aliens and humans had no sense of the same scale of time nor had any common geography but eventually they found something they thought would work. The meet would happen the next day at noon in an area beyond the front that could be easily accessible by each side.

Sharpe posed for a few photos and graciously accepted congratulations from a number of the gathered military techies and some of his entourage. General Gibil watched with increasing concern. He waited impatiently for the senator to finish eyeing up the female reporter with him and had to delay further for her obvious response to the overt leer. Finally the man separated himself so the Guard officer could speak alone with him.

"Are you sure about this Senator?" Gibil questioned.

"About what General?" the man replied nonchalantly.

"About meeting with the aliens. It seems way too easy. They attack us, we crack their language then they agree to meet with you, just like that."

An irritated look marred the senator's handsome features. "What are you getting at Gibil?"

"Listen, I may not be a brilliant tactician but I smell a setup," the General mused.

"Really?" Sharpe snorted sarcastically. "And you don't think that maybe they're tired of this war too? Their losses have been heavy and they're not going to win." The senator then fixed the man with an intense glare. "Instead of being all paranoid you might show them some goodwill and see the brilliance of this plan. You know they might be looking for a way to get out of this mess too."

"That doesn't make sense," Gibil pressed.

"Enough!" the senator cut in, holding up his hand to silence the man. "If you lack vision and aren't a team player I might have to look for another to be my military advisor. So watch your step. I do remember who has the vision and the courage to look to the future," he looked down his nose at the smaller man, "and who doesn't. Get it?"

"I get it," the National Guard officer responded, not able to make eye contact.

**[Somewhere inside Culver City, LA]**

This had to be the Central Hive, Mike thought as he looked again through his binoculars. A series of antennae came out of the ground housed in a domed structure similar to what they'd encountered last time. It seemed promising at the very least.

While there seemed to be about a platoon of infantry caste aliens about they moved about in a loose patrol formation. So after dark the Marines should be able to sneak in and get a better look. All they needed to do was hunker down for a couple of hours which seemed easy enough after sneaking around like ghosts the past three days.

LCpl Julio Dominguez had the overwatch on the position as the others rested out of sight. He was higher up then the others, having worked his way to a position of observation on the second floor of the destroyed building they were set up. The 21 year old Latino had a great view of the area they were seeking to explore. His mind drifted to some of the downtown clubs he had liked to go to in the past then naturally to the ladies with their short skirts and high heels who frequented them and liked to run their fingers through his short Mohawk haircut. It sure would feel good to have that happen again….

_Crap_

A large group of aliens had come quickly out of the structure then began methodically searching the area towards him. He'd missed that and now at least ten of them were coming directly for his position with others fanning out in support.

Had they been compromised? Had they been spotted? It didn't seem that way since the squids seemed to be sweeping the area. Routine? Maybe but the aliens definitely seemed to be moving with a purpose. All these thoughts processed through the mind of Julio Dominguez causing him to hesitate for about two seconds.

It was two seconds too long.

The lance corporal needed to shift his location to signal the rest of the patrol since they were in cover so couldn't see what approached. Unfortunately in his pause he'd lost the opportunity to make the move unseen. To do so now would expose him if he did.

What to do?

There was only one thing to do for the young Marine.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath Dominguez said a quick prayer, crossed himself and moved as quickly as he could. "Inbound! We got inbound squids," he yelled once he saw his team.

Dominguez evaporated in a grenade explosion that peppered his second floor observation point.

"Fall back!" Mike screamed. "Move to the fall back point! Get out we've been compromised!"

The Marines responded instantly jumping out of their hiding places and moving in the opposite direction. The sound of advancing aliens became evident. Machine gun fire began to randomly pepper the building while several grenades whizzed into where they'd been holed up in. Dominguez's sacrifice and their quick response saved the remnant as the grenades exploded harmlessly.

Harris and his team had already fallen back so were the first to drop down and set up a firebase to cover their withdrawal. The M240B GPMG opened up cutting down the lead group of infantry caste aliens who pressed through the Marines old hide allowing the others to move back then consolidate in order to withdraw from the area. Aliens seemed to be appearing from everywhere so this could take only a few moments or they'd be cut off.

Santos sprinted as fast as her short legs would allow but she fell behind the other more athletic soldiers making for a juicy target. A burst of alien machine fire caught the Latino woman pushing her to the concrete road she'd been crossing. Fortunately Santos' Kevlar vest absorbed the rounds but her helmet had been knocked free. Looking back as she picked it the Air Force sergeant saw something that caused her to pause.

Half-dozen drones were flying into position as a series of cables shot into the open at the position they'd been watching. It had to be the alien command-and-control center.

"Staff Sergeant!" she screamed, falling prone to hold her position. "Staff Sergeant! This has to be the place."

"Run Santos, fall back," Mike replied, dropping to one knee and drilling an alien that had been approaching from the side with a burst of automatic fire. "We're going to get overrun here. We need to bug out."

"The drones are hooking the thing up," she shot back with a sense of urgency. "We won't get another shot at it if we leave."

Mike took a nano-second to think about it. "Marines hold up, hold up!" he ordered the others, his voice booming over the din of combat. "Form a defensive position. We're going to hold this line. Petrie, get the radio up we're going to call this one in."

"Are you crazy Staffs?" Lockett yelled back spraying fire left and right at the advancing aliens. "We can't hold."

"We have to. This could be our only chance to get this thing," Mike countered confidently.

"All right," Lockett agreed his adrenaline surging. "Find a spot Marines, let's buy some time."

With Harris in the center Lockett and Imlay had their teams find good positions and began firing on the advancing aliens. It had taken only about ten seconds for this complete change in tactics.

Thinking the humans had been on the run the aliens came in overly aggressive allowing the Marines to decimate the first ranks with M4A1 fire and then successfully targeted the officer caste aliens with several grenades from their M203's. Leaderless, the attackers fell back in disarray giving the soldiers a chance to withdraw but instead they held, hoping they could complete the mission.

"Comms up!" Petrie reported.

"Santos, call it in," Mike ordered her with a sense of urgency, popping off three more rounds at an alien who'd tried to move out of cover.

The Air Force Tech Sergeant licked dry lips then ducked her head as the aliens began to pound their position with rocket and machine gun fire. "Anvil Command this is Foxtrot 2 November with a priority fire mission authorization Tango 7-Zulu 4-9er."

"Foxtrot 2 November this is Anvil Command. Your mission is authenticated. Go," the voice on the other end confirmed briskly.

"Anvil Command bring strike package Delta on grid co-ordinates 34028 November 118243 Whisky," Santos requested. "This is a danger close mission, fire for effect."

"Roger that Foxtrot 2 November, fire for effect, danger close. Package inbound in less then five minutes."

"Five minutes," Santos screamed to be heard above the ruckus, "inbounds in five minutes."

Never had three hundred seconds felt longer.

The drones worked frantically to hook up the Command Hive to pull it away, likely remembering what had happened the last time. The infantry caste aliens increased their fire and became more reckless, throwing caution to the wind in their attempt to dislodge the Marines. The fire became intense, the air sizzling with flying ordinance.

Pete 'pig' Allen, so named for his legendary eating ability, had been holding the extreme right flank with his SAW. A group of aliens had tried to come around but he'd expertly picked them off, driving them back with a flurry of 5.56mm rounds. Things seemed fairly stable and they only had about two more minutes to go. Another group of infantry caste attackers showed themselves and Allen let off a long burst running through half a belt when the Squad Automatic Weapon suddenly stopped.

"I'm jammed, I'm jammed," Allen yelled out in panic as aliens began to surge towards him sensing the opportunity they'd been seeking.

Imlay was closest to Pig's position so lobbed a grenade to his front then switched fire to try to cover the Marine who desperately attempted to clear the stoppage and reload the gun. It was too little too late. Allen had come into a kneeling position to get a better angle which made him too easy a target. With rounds whizzing all around, the burly Marine went down in a flurry of alien machine gun fire.

"Man down! Doc, we need a medic over here!" Imlay cried out, his heart in his mouth as he watched Allen squirm in pain from multiple wounds. Santos and Petrie covered Doc Adukwu as he fearlessly sprinted from cover into the whirlwind of ordinance flying through the air, helping push the attackers back so he could try to save the life of the critically wounded Marine.

The aliens continued to surge forward, trading lives for real estate but still the Marines desperately held on.

Then came the sound they'd been waiting for. Overhead the whistle of inbound Tomahawk cruise missiles filled the air. Drones tried to intercept but the fast moving missiles cut through the hasty screen. Perhaps they'd been expecting the projectiles to be laser-guided like last time but not this day. The programmed missiles stayed true to their course and while three were cut down four more crashed into the bulky alien craft. The resulting explosion was not only deafening but flattened the surrounding block.

**[LA Theatre of operations headquarters]**

"He did WHAT?" General Daily exploded, flinging his briefing binder across the room barely missing a female corporal. "I'll lock the idiot's ass in jail. Does he know what he's just done? The risk he's put us in?" the man raged. "Get me the captain of my MP detachment," he ordered a sergeant standing nearby.

"There's a problem with that sir," the officer reporting to him answered. "He's already gotten a reply from the squidheads and a meets been set."

Daily's eyes bulged with rage at the news but he held his tongue seeing the adjutant had more to report.

"He sent a flash message off to Washington right after. I don't think we can touch him."

The general rubbed his temples as he felt a fresh migraine coming on. "All right, send a message to our brigade commanders that our intelligence capabilities have been compromised and the squids know we can listen to them so proceed with caution on what we get. Then get me in touch with the good senator. We need to have a chat." 

**[Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA]**

Michele sat on a bench, trying to think and at the same time trying not to think. Her mind became once more a jumble of thoughts and feelings. Though looking calm and collected on the outside, within the veterinarian was a volcano of emotions. She'd not heard from her nieces since they'd been taken from the refugee city and the situation with Hector continued to get worse.

Then there was Mike.

The troubled woman's attention shifted as a door banged open at the hospital across the dusty street she sat facing and a group of three Army nurses came out.

"I heard there was a team sent in behind the alien's line to try to hit their new command center," a nurse with poorly dyed blonde hair gossiped, taking a drag on a cigarette outside the infirmary.

"I heard it was the same guys that did it the last time," another confirmed.

"Poor buggers, couldn't they let someone else do it?"

An older woman with a tight bun wearing olive drab scrubs marched out and shot the chatty women a withering look. "Prep for casualties, we've got another batch coming in from the front," she ordered.

Michele's heart sank as she overheard the conversation between the nurses. The report from the supervisor only made her feel worse.

"Another mission?" she groaned to herself. "Was that why Mike had disappeared?"

The woman sunk into a sea of deep, dark guilt. After their heated conversation four days earlier then him not returning she'd figured he'd bailed on her and she'd flown into a rage. She'd even broken the precious bottle of Napa Valley wine she'd been able to secure and had been planning on sharing with him. The next day the beginnings of doubt for how she'd viewed things began to come alive. He saved her life, they had feelings for each other and she dumps on him the first time things get tense. Nice. No wonder he'd left she'd then began to think, falling into a depressed state of second guessing. Then she's talked to Hector and found out how bad their time together went and how he'd been called away from his leave.

It all added up. It had to be him on this mission.

"Please God, let me see him again. I'll never be like that again," she prayed, tears clouding her vision as she sat alone.


	18. Chapter 18 Cost

**Chapter 18 – Cost**

[**Battalion Headquarters, 2****nd**** Battalion, 5****th**** Marines, front line, Los Angeles Theatre of Operations]**

"Sir! We're getting reports of alien drones falling from the sky," a radio operator yelled to the commanding officer of the battalion. "Their air grid is completely gone."

A buzz went around the room as some tried to get in on the action while others attempted to check their sources for confirmation. A few cheered at the news but most worked feverishly.

LCol Ritchie charged over to a computer to check the information himself. Satisfied at the accuracy of the report he allowed himself a moment to smile slightly at the relief the news gave of them. "All right, send this up to General Daily and put this out to all our commanders in the field. We're back in the driver's seat."

The Marines on the front line took the opportunity to push back against the surprised aliens who'd been surging of late. With their air support removed the advantage again returned to the humans who took full advantage to recapture the ground once lost.

But as all that transpired, back at the 2-5 headquarters, thirty minutes after the initial report of the destruction of the alien hive the Marine colonel became concerned for Staff Sergeant Nantz's team behind enemy lines. They'd not been heard of since the blast.

"Break radio silence. Try to raise the team," Ritchie ordered, shifting focus to getting his troops back now that the news had gone out about the loss of alien air power.

"Foxtrot 2 November this is Juggernaught Actual, come in please, over," the chief of communications for the battalion broadcast on the team's frequency. "Foxtrot 2 November, can you read me, over?"

The radio operator waited as tension filled the room. "Nothing sir."

"Any bio reading?" LCol Ritchie snapped at a female Marine at another terminal.

"The woman checked her screen and checked again. "Negative sir. Nothing coming up on the tracker. But the blast could have blitzed the system," she quickly added trying to offer hope.

"Boost the signal and try the comms again," he barked at the main radio operator.

The officer in charge did as he was ordered but still nothing but static could be heard at the other end.

Growing increasingly frustrated, Ritchie went to another terminal in his headquarters. "I want a satellite reading of the area. Feed in the co-ordinates."

"We can't do that without NSA authorization sir," the operator responded, avoiding the Marine's piercing look.

Bull. I know you can override the system," Ritchie declared. The operator reddened at the truth of the statement confirming the officer's suspicion. "Do it."

"All right sir, give me a sec." The thin soldier adjusted his glasses and began to rapidly tap the keys on his keyboard. "Image coming up on the main screen now."

Attention fixed to the view screen that hung on a wall in the center of the headquarters. The screen flickered then a grainy image looking down from space showed Culver City.

"Sharpen the image and magnify," Ritchie ordered.

The operator adjusted the settings and the sight though clearer was not encouraging. A large crater smoked in the center of the picture, while a billowing dust cloud still hung in the air. All around, at least two blocks out was fresh devastation. Even though the Tomahawks carried non-nuclear warheads, the number and size of the payload spelled overkill to those who watched. The alien Central Hive had been completely destroyed. Nothing moved in the picture though from the edge of the screen infantry caste aliens could be seen entering into the area.

No one said anything, the elation of the moment lost at the realization of the cost.

1st Sergeant John Roy stood behind the senior officer watching the scene, feeling intensely the loss of his friend. "Should I call up SAR to look for survivors after dark sir?"

"Negative," Ritchie replied flatly. "Search and rescue's too risky. The place will be crawling by then."

"Understood," Roy replied, keeping his emotions in check. Looking over at Father Alexander the two locked on each other for a moment. "With your permission sir, the chaplain and I need to let some people know what just happened."

**[Task Force Los Angeles Command Center, rear area, somewhere in LA]**

"Thank you for the report colonel, that's excellent news," General Daily responded to the news of the successful mission. "Well done and congratulations." He listened as the report continued. "I'm sorry to hear about your team. We'll make sure their loss is not forgotten."

Daily handed the receiver back to the radio operator and sighed audibly. More cost, more brave men lost in this conflict. When would it end?

"Well?"

The general's thoughts were interrupted by Gary Sharpe.

Keeping his emotions in check at the man who continued to irritate him in new ways every day he responded, "Okay, I can give you the green light for your mission."

"You know, I don't need your permission to do this. I have the president's authorization," the senator declared confidently.

"You do if you want to use my helicopters," Daily retorted.

"Gentlemen, it's a moot point," General Gibil stepped in, playing the statesman. "The meet's been set and time is running out."

"You're right of course," Daily admitted. "I'm sorry about that senator, I just don't like this. The risk is too high."

Rather then taking the high road and apologizing for his agitation, Sharpe smugly looked down at the humble soldier. "That's more like it. Now we're co-operating, now we're getting somewhere," he chided. "My people are ready to move so make sure everything is prepped."

"I think you should have at least a platoon of Marines escorting you," Daily responded, chaffing under the arrogant politician. "I'd take a company if it were me. Plus I'd go in on the ground. It makes you less of a target."

Sharpe chuckled and shook his head. "You really don't know anything about negotiations do you?"

"I do know about war!" the African American commander shot back.

"That could be viewed as overly aggressive. It's acting in bad faith."

"Bad faith is attacking without warning."

"They had no way of communicating with us," Sharpe explained in a patronizing tone. "Plus they don't really know our ways, do they?"

Daily couldn't believe what he was hearing but held his tongue. "Okay, it's your call senator."

"Yes, it is," he responded ungraciously. "I'll take a gunship with me as escort to comfort you and General Gibil plus another helicopter for the press." He watched the Marine officer's eyes narrow but ignored him. "Oh and general, when we get back we're going to talk about a formal transfer of power."

**[Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA]**

Michele saw the chaplain and Marine sergeant approaching and instinctively knew they were coming to see her. She also knew the news they bore wasn't good. Maybe it was the way their shoulders slumped. Maybe it was a sixth sense. Her first instinct was to run. If they couldn't tell her she wouldn't be able to hear it. But as much as her mind screamed 'run' her legs were stuck like they were planted in cement.

"Miss Trantor," Father Alexander began, his eyes filled with remorse, "I have some bad news we need to share with you."

Michele could feel her heart begin to pound and thought it might burst out of her chest. The sergeant she figured to be Mike's friend John Roy wouldn't look at her. The priest seemed in pain himself. Her head started to feel light.

"We know that you and Staff Sergeant Nantz have become close this past while," Father Alexander continued kindly, "so we wanted you to know that he was on a mission behind enemy lines. While the mission was successful and was a huge help for the war effort we're afraid we need to let you know that he and his team are missing and presumed lost."

"No," Michele whispered, hearing the words she'd feared, "…no…NO!" she screamed drawing looks for those in earshot. The woman's legs buckled and she fell to the ground, drawing her knees in to her chin and rocking back and forth as the two soldiers looked on helplessly.

**[meeting between the Zhuntran Advancement and the representative of the US government, somewhere in LA]**

The two parties stared at each other, wondering who would make the first move. Bizripp stood flanked by a dozen infantry caste aliens. Senator Sharpe has his protection detail, handlers and press followers who were setting up to capture the historic event. The officer caste alien stood taller then even his other peers towering nearly ten feet tall.

The meet had been set for an abandoned Walmart which allowed for the helicopters to land. The alien party was already in place when the humans arrived. They stood, unmoving, as the two transport choppers landed and turned off before their passengers left. An Apache attack helicopter flew above and away from the scene on overwatch.

Sharpe waved at the aliens who continued to stand impassively though they did seem to be speaking to each other. The senator motioned to Lt. Watson to set up his mobile translation apparatus. With the help of two soldiers from his unit they began to unpack their gear and hook everything up.

For Richard Watson, this continued to be surreal experience. The computer programmer thought back to his hacker days and wondered at how weird life could be. A few months ago he'd been bringing in over $100,000 a month now he was sweating in the sun, twenty yards away from the things that had been trying to destroy the planet. The senator was so confident but for his part the thoughtful man kept getting strange vibes from the whole thing. No matter, Sharpe seemed to know what he was doing.

While several print journalists snapped pictures and began scribbling background notes, the senator's personal videographer began to capture the event. CNN, on the other hand, set up to go live and broadcast across the country. This was going to be huge, a real career maker.

Getting the signal, the leggy blonde reporter with a short skirt began, "This is Ashley Madison, live from Los Angeles where a historic gathering is taking place. Senator Gary Sharpe has arranged a meeting to negotiate peace with the alien invaders."

The camera panned back and showed the surrounding area.

With cameras rolling and a live feed, Gary Sharpe was feeling pretty good. Off camera he winked at the reporter who he'd picked to come along. She'd already indicated she'd be showing her gratitude for the opportunity later that night. Life was good for the senator.

Lt. Watson signaled to Sharpe they were ready to begin. The equipment had been booted up, microphones and speakers were fed into the Apple computer that had been upgraded with the fastest hardware around.

Sharpe motioned to Bizripp and his entourage to join him but they continued to stand stonily, not moving, peering warily about. Looking around the lanky creatures finally moved, joining the senator. He extended his hand which was refused_. Oh well, not likely their custom_, he thought. _They're nothing more then savages and man, do these things stink._

"Vizier Bizripp, it's nice to meet you" Sharpe began, smiling broadly. "Thank you for your willingness to meet and speak of ending our disagreement. It shows great vision on your part."

"This is the one who makes you speak our tongue?" Bizripp said through the translator ignoring the introduction instead gesturing to Watson who worked the computer at a portable table.

"Yes, this is Richard Watson. He's really a genius with computers."

"And he is only one?"

"You're correct. He figured out how to translate your native tongue into ours. Now, let's get down to our negotiations."

Bizripp ignored the senator and instead began to speak to a pair of officer caste aliens who flanked him. Strangely, the alien leader's dialect changed and Watson's translation program couldn't figure out was being said. The officers gestured around and other aliens began to move.

"Sir, there's something wrong here," Watson said in a low voice to Senator Sharpe. "I can't translate what they're saying. They're using a different tongue."

Sharpe froze, unsure what to do as several walking guns and dozens of infantry caste aliens came rushing out of hiding.

Back at the area headquarters General Daily watched the situation live on CNN plus their own camera via the orbiting helicopter. Instantly he knew it was going bad. "Get them out of there!" he yelled, sensing an ambush. "Get that gunship online and cover the withdrawal."

The order was given too late. The Apache helicopter exploded in the air, hit by a hidden missile battery followed in short order by the destruction of the two transport choppers. Alien machine gun fire erupted and in a matter of seconds Sharpe's entire guard was down, leaving only the reporters and the Senator with his civilian aides and Lt. Watson.

"Shut down that news feed," Daily ordered, watching the scene, "kill the broadcast."

Again, too late, the CNN editor in New York was frozen and so the scene went out across the nation.

"You, insect, who dare defile our sacred tongue with your machines," Bizripp spat out at the terrified programmer through the translator, "pay for your insult."

The alien commander raised his arm and two infantry caste aliens executed Watson at point blank range, causing his head to explode like a pumpkin.

"I don't understand," Gary Sharpe stammered, as he watched a long, narrow sword come extending from the alien commander's right forearm, "we had an agreement. We were to talk about peace."

"This is how we make peace," Bizripp replied with a sneer on his ugly face, ramming the sword into the chest of the surprised senator whose eyes went wide in disbelief as the life left them.


	19. Chapter 19 Pledges

**Chapter 19 – Pledges**

The broadcast of the attack at the much-anticipated peace meeting created panic across the country. The video footage of the brazen ambush of Senator Sharpe's party had a ripple effect sweeping through the nation. Debate raged over the internet on what to do with many pushing to find peace before man was totally annihilated. Pressure mounted on the president and government to do something, to negotiate. The only problem was the man who had figured out how to communicate with the aliens died in the attack. In fact the death of Richard Watson and destruction of his translation equipment had been something the alien leader seemed to make a point out of.

Already others were being tasked with trying to figure out ways of communicating with the aliens. While some prominent civic leaders began to preach a policy of appeasement others became more strident pushing a win-at-all-costs strategy. As a result of one broadcast America had become a nation polarized.

The threat of battle within seemed a greater threat to the stability of the country then the attack of the aliens which had limited success beyond coastal areas. Indeed, other then in Norfolk Virginia none of the assaults had penetrated beyond the initial city attacked. Yet in the inland of the country groups of armed citizens were on patrol looking for alien invaders. Mistaken gun battles had already happened in Omaha Nebraska and Louisville Kentucky as rival parties mistook each other for aliens and opened fire. America stood on a razor's edge.

It was a dark time, darker then it needed to be since the destruction of the new alien command-and-control center in LA had given the advantage back to the human forces attempting liberate the city. Coupled with gains made in other centers under assault in the United States progress looked good. In addition, around the world the lessons learned in LA had been paying off dividends. The Chinese had fought back with ferocity, making significant gains to reclaim their homeland and even co-operating with the Japanese to free their country. In London, English forces had completely destroyed the alien attackers with two members of the British Royal family in the thick of action. With Prince William flying an attack helicopter and Prince Harry leading a tank squadron the English people rallied, much like they'd done in World War 2, and threw the invaders, literally, into the sea. Yes, there was much to celebrate.

It seemed to be a worthy sacrifice of one Marine staff sergeant, an Air Force tech specialist and a squad of soldiers. Other then at the battalion headquarters of the 2-5 Marines and with the devastated Michele and Hector who were in shock at Mike's demise the country celebrated as word of the brave soldiers sacrifice in LA became a public relations tool to try to calm the panicked population. But even that was deceiving, much like the grounds for the panic going on across America.

**[Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA]**

Michele felt numb, that was the only way she could describe her feelings. Numb, worse still, she felt as if she were spiraling down, like grains of sand flowing through an hour glass. She'd been angry with Mike. Why she didn't even remember now, but she'd wanted to hold onto it, like some sort of game. She'd wanted to nurse it, like a martini at a cocktail lounge; she wanted to make him suffer a little. Not a lot, she wasn't that type of person, but she did want him to know that what he'd done wasn't acceptable.

Now he was gone.

A fresh wave of emotion came crashing over her, almost taking her breath away. The priest, Father Alexander, and Mike's friend, 1st Sergeant Roy, had been very kind. They'd sat with her as she wept, then sat with her as she went silent, they continued to sit with her as she raged at the injustice of what had happened. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she knew this was the 'process of grieving'. It must have come from her textbooks in psych class during med school. The source didn't matter. The logic of it didn't matter. She now resided in a pit of misery and wondered how she'd ever feel again.

Then there was Hector.

Michele had asked the two Marines to accompany her to tell Hector. They readily agreed so drove her to the place where he lived in with his aunt. She could swear the hard-faced Latino woman smiled when she broke the news. Hector had been heartbroken and ran out of the temporary house to get away. Father Alexander, an avid runner, had followed and talked to the boy for an hour before they returned. Michele, the sergeant, and Hector's aunt sat in silence the whole time. Finally the boy returned, eyes red and puffy but under control. Michele had pledged to stay in touch, to do whatever would help him overcome this devastating news.

To lose a father, then a father-figure in such a short time was too much for the boy. Already he seemed to be slipping into a catatonic state.

Michele's heart broke anew. She cursed the war, cursed the aliens for invading, and cursed fate for allowing her to feel so she could only be hurt.

Hector's aunt had thanked her for the concern but also made it very clear that his destiny lay in the hard woman's hands.

Now Michele was alone with her thoughts, alone in the hustle and bustle of people around her. The two Marines had returned their duties; she'd not hear from Hector, his sister wouldn't return her text messages. She had no one. She wished she could do it over again, tell him she loved him, tried to understand, understand the pressure he was under. Then at least he could have passed from this life to the next knowing where he stood with her. If she could only do it over again, she'd do it differently. She'd be less concerned about her needs, her insecurities and focus on him. She'd look more to correct her faults then point out his. She'd be a different woman, the kind that a man who'd been deeply hurt and seen so much could not only love but trust.

If only.

But not now. Now, her constant companions were misery and guilt. They, unfortunately, were very attentive, and she found herself falling deeper into despair.

**[Somewhere in Culver City, LA]**

The first thing Mike realized was the intense ringing in his ears. Next was the feeling of being buried. Initially he was sure he was dead.

The blast had been immense, bigger then the last time and he'd had no time to get out of the way, sending the other men in his patrol to cover and standing alone guarding the rear. The blast had been an orange volcano then everything had gone black.

Now Mike remembered, he had to be dead. But then he felt intense pain, and pressure all over his body. The Marine sergeant wasn't dead; he was buried under debris, suffocating to death. He wished he was rather then face this prospect.

They'd fulfilled their mission. The alien command hive was gone. Mike hoped it made a difference. Then he thought of Michele and how things had ended. He chided himself for being a fool, allowing his pride and emotions to get the better of him. And now he was going to die and not be able to tell her he really did love her.

_Idiot_, he cursed himself.

Then there was Hector. A thought had been percolating in Mike's mind before this mission, one that seemed crazy but had caused him great joy as he thought about it. Now that wouldn't happen either.

_Oh God, if you get me out of this I will never hesitate again, I'll let down my shield and really live_, he prayed hopelessly.

Then he heard it.

"Staffs! Can you hear me? Staff Sergeant Nantz!" came the muffled cries from outside the pile.

_"I'm in here! Get me out,_ his mind screamed in reply, desperate now to be free but it came out only as a grunt.

It was enough.

The sound of intense digging gave him encouragement. "Hang on, we're coming for you."

It only took a few minutes it turned out to remove the debris from Mike. The burly Marine was fortunate that several large slabs of the building that had collapsed on him formed a bit of a teepee and carried the bulk of the load. He'd been buried only by the lighter concrete, the heavier fortunately missing him.

Mike felt hands pulling him out. His eyes involuntarily closed at the bright light after being in the dark.

"You okay Staffs?' Lockett asked, concern etched on his face.

Imlay handed him a canteen. "Here, take some water."

The sound of sporadic small arms fire caught his attention.

"What's going on?" Mike croaked, pushing Doc Adukwu away.

"Squids are coming back," Lockett reported, looking over his shoulder nervously.

"We got to get out of here," Mike declared.

"No way. You're down, Harris is hurt bad and Santos has a busted ankle," Imlay reported. "We got pasted by the blast. So we're going to hunker down here and call for evac."

"They'll never make it in the time," Mike argued. "Squids'll be all over us. We need to move. Disengage, find some cover then look for extraction."

"It'll be too hard with the wounded. We can't do it."

"Leave me behind," Harris said weakly lying off to the side. "I'm not going to make in anyway. I'll just slow us down."

Lockett and Imlay looked away, not wanting to validate the statement. Doc worked away, not looking at anyone either.

"No way," Mike declared weakly though with convictions, his faculties suddenly razor sharp at the realization of what was being proposed. "We all get out or no one gets out. No one gets left behind."

The two Marines smiled in relief at the decision. They fist bumped each other then Lockett shot out, "all right, let's get it done."

Imlay nodded his head in agreement. "Marines, prepare to move."

"Santos, you okay to walk on that?" Mike asked the Latino Air Force sergeant.

"I've had worse injuries fighting off drunks at the sergeant's club," she grimaced. "Don't worry about me, I can keep up. What about you?" she countered with a grin, "You look like crap."

Mike laughed and tears streamed down his cheeks at the release. "I guess I probably do. I'm glad there's no mirror around. Anyway, I'm alive and I've got an appointment to keep so let's get out of here."

Though the aliens were still unorganized due to the destruction of their command element, they still had superior numbers so seemed to want to extract revenge on the destroyers of their key asset. They pressed in; confident they could overwhelm the staggered humans who had been in the blast radius. Only sporadic fire came from their position in a collapsed building so it would be easy.

Then a half-dozen grenades flew out of the defensive position and the aliens had to change their position. A series of explosions from the HE grenades shredded the alien troops advancing in the front causing the others behind to scramble for cover.

Lockett and Petrie popped up and began to move the opposite way, into a mass of destroyed buildings near the site of their stand. Imlay opened fire with the SAW while Chavez threw another grenade for good measure then added fire with his M4. The determined stand by the pair of Marines checked the leaderless aliens who hesitated allowing the wounded soldiers to fall back with the assistance of Doc Adukwu. Lockett and Petrie laid down their own base of fire allowing Imlay and Chavez to fall back in good order and rejoin the wounded. The pair then scrambled another bound while Lockett and Petrie now provided rear guard fire. The wounded moved again and the process repeated.

"Leave me behind," Harris rasped out, "I'm slowing you down. I don't want to get you all killed."

"Shut your mouth Marine or I'll kill you myself," Mike growled, "we're getting you out of here. You and everyone else. We're all going to get home."

The aliens were slow to press in and then when they did their lead elements were torn apart. The disciplined fire control of the Marines who then fell into the classic pair's fire-and-movement strategy was a thing of beauty. All were completely focused on protecting the group and especially their wounded comrades. Several times Mike wanted to stop as he helped carry Harris to safety and fire his M4 but each time someone else eliminated the threat first. Both Imlay and Chavez were hit but each carried on, none would stop. Each supported the other. They truly were a fearsome team. Mike was never prouder to be a Marine.

Though the alien fire was ragged compared to that of the Marines, the invaders had the advantage of numbers and reinforcements. More and more infantry caste surged into the area and several times the humans seemed to be totally blocked. But each time the disciple and dogged determination of the remnant of the team kept them going. But this point no orders needed to be given. A symmetry existed within the group, it almost seemed like a dance of fire and movement took over. Though grenades crashed in and machine gun rounds screamed all around, the soldiers kept moving steadily away from the blast area, exacting a heavy toll the whole way.

Then, as if nothing had happened, they were free of contact.

None knew if the aliens had given up or if they'd just sucked the fight out of them but one moment the firing was heavy, next it had evaporated. The Marines didn't take the time to ponder what had happened. They kept pressing on, picking up the pace to try to move to safety. Each bound took them further away and still the pursuit hadn't been picked up.

"How's Harris?" Mike gasped out to Doc Adukwu, the exertion and his own injuries catching up.

The medic did a quick check on the now unconscious corporal then replied in his thick African voice, "Not good Staff Sergeant. We need to stop soon so I can stabilize him. If not, we might lose him."

"Okay, then we stop because I'm not going to let that happen. Imlay, Lockett, on me." Mike watched the pair move towards him as the others set up a defensive perimeter.

Both looked bad themselves. Lockett had a shrapnel wound on his cheek that bled openly. Imlay had lost part of his ear and a lot of hair had been burned off with a close call with a grenade. Yet each stood tall, ready to do what was needed to see the rest of them get out.

"We need to lay low and let Harris get some treatment," Mike declared, catching his breath. "What are our options?"

"No troubles Staff Sergeant," Lockett responded without missing a beat. "We're good to go and can hold the squids as long as need be. We're not losing my boy."

"Roger that," Imlay agreed. "There's a good spot about 150 meters to our right," he pointed out. "We can lay up there, defend it easy plus it's got some good exit points. Just like home," he added with a grin.

"Outstanding," Mike agreed. "Let's get it done."

The group moved swiftly and set up as best they could while doc worked feverishly on Harris. Tension was high, thick enough to cut, but after 45 minutes they began to ease off as no sight or sound of alien pursuit came about. For whatever reason, they'd given up the fight. With night setting in, Mike began to think they might just get out of this.

The evening passed without incident, it seemed as calm as an exercise back at Camp Pendleton. Harris' condition improved so now it became time to thing about calling for help. Mike poured over his map, looking for the right spot and calculating the time it would take to get there. The aliens could still pick up their transmissions, he assumed, so it needed to be a tight and focused call. With several hours to go before first light he had a plan. If it worked, they'd be out of Culver City before the sun came up, just in time for breakfast.

Mike ordered Petrie to set up the radio while the others waited, tension renewed. None had expected to make it to this point. None had been willing to abandon their comrades so each had been willing to die, but now it seemed like they might make it out. More then one began to pray.

"Juggernaught Actual this is Foxtrot 2 November," Mike called into the microphone. "We are alive and request immediate extraction and medical evac."


	20. Chapter 20 No disrespect intended

**Chapter 20 - no disrespect intended**

"Get Colonel Ritchie! We got 'em. They're alive," the duty officer called to an orderly after receiving the call for help from Mike's team.

A cheer went up from the headquarters.

The battalion commander came charging in wearing a tee shirt and shorts a couple minutes later. No one bothered about the casual attire. "Do you have their location?" he yelled.

"Yes sir!" the young lieutenant confirmed. "We've got it."

"Okay. I want a bird with medics up now," LCol Ritchie ordered. "Plus get them full gunship cover and I want Air Force on station to support the extraction if needed."

"We're on it sir," the officer responded briskly pointing to several signalers waiting for order.

"Good. Get it done. I want our people home," the commanding officer declared, "all of them. And also send a message up to area headquarters. General Daily is going to want to know this too."

In less then ninety minutes what had seemed impossible had become a reality. A Blackhawk helicopter from the Night Stalkers landed at the battalion headquarters flanked by a pair of Apaches, missiles bristling. Several medics and two doctors rushed to the transport helicopter even before the rotors had stopped turning to attend to the wounded Marines. Corporal Harris was already on a stretcher so he was moved first. Petrie had an abdominal wound which turned out to be more serious then it seemed once the adrenaline stopped pumping so he went next. Santos followed then finally the walking wounded were taken to the field hospital attached to the 2-5's staging area.

Though sore from getting buried in the blast Mike felt pretty good. Despite losing Pte. Allen he'd brought everyone else out. The initial assessment on Harris was he was going to make it too. They'd succeeded in their mission, the helicopter pilot had personally thanked him on the way back for destroying the alien command pod, so he had that to feel good about too.

Then he remembered the pledge he'd made to God under the pile of rubble. It had seemed a bit cavalier at the time, especially when he figured he wouldn't make it out, but strangely the recollection gave him a sense of peace rather then stress like he'd expected. It seems he had some promises to fulfill though he wasn't sure when he'd get the chance. LCol Ritchie's presence reminded him of that.

"Outstanding job Staff Sergeant!" the commanding officer commended him, charging over to shake his hand. "You and your team really pulled us out of the fire. We're already making some great headway thanks to your efforts. I need to talk to you ASAP and do a debrief but I want you to get checked out by the docs and get some chow first. God knows you deserve it. Once you and your team are sorted out I'd like to thank you all."

Mike followed a nurse, as if on autopilot, into the hospital. He sat down on a cot as a doctor began to look him over. He answered some questions that he couldn't remember even if he had tried, everything coming out automatically. He was told that other then some bruising he seemed okay but to take it easy for at least 48 hours. The medical professionals then left him, moving on to another patient.

"Michael!"

He looked up to see Father Alexander coming towards him, a huge grin on his face.

"Good to see you…," Mike tried to greet the man but the priest enveloped him in a bear hug, causing the Marine to wince and the nurse to issue the clergyman a sharp rebuke.

"I'm sorry for that," Father Alexander apologized, wiping a tear from his eye. "I just thought you were…I prayed that you'd…" his voice dropped.

Mike was touched by the honest emotion from the humble priest. "Thanks, that means a lot."

"It's a miracle, praise God. I prayed for this, but didn't…," the man's voice choked. "I'm so glad you made it out. A lots gone on the past couple of days and there's some things we need to talk about. But first, there are two people who will want to know you're okay."

A look of horror registered on Mike's face as he realized what he meant. "Oh man, Michele, Hector…they didn't find out did they?"

"Yes, they did. 1st Sergeant Roy and I told them when we thought you were lost," the priest admitted, avoiding Mike's eyes. "I'm…I'm sorry. I never meant to…"

"It's okay Father Alexander. You did the right thing, everything considered," Mike released the man from his anguish. "But how can we let them know?"

Father Alexander pulled out his cell phone and began to tap out a text message to Michele.

Mike looked at him in surprise. "Hey, isn't that type of communications a security violation?"

The priest grinned back at the Marine sheepishly. "It's better to ask for forgiveness then permission."

Mike laughed in relief, tension draining out of his body knowing the anguish Michele and Hector had been going through would end soon.

"Drat! I lost the signal," the priest announced. "Maybe its God giving me a message, huh? Let's go outside and try it there."

Father Alexander helped Mike to his feet and the pair walked towards the exit. "Listen, I might not be the one who should tell you this but there's something you should know about so you're prepared," the priest mentioned as they opened the door outside.

"There he is!" someone yelled and in an instant Mike was surrounded by a crush of reporters.

"How does it fell to be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor?"

"What are your thoughts on what this means?"

"Is it true you're going to Washington to receive it from the president?"

"What impact does this have on the war effort?"  
>Reporters peppered a stunned Mike with questions. Microphones and cameras pressed in at him from all directions. He stood there with his mouth open, not able to comprehend what was happening.<p>

"Please…please, give the man some room. He's just come off the line and been injured," Father Alexander pleaded to the surging reporters to no avail.

"All of you, back off!" a voice boomed above the crowd. "This is a restricted area. Get away and leave him be."

1st Sergeant Roy came running into the fray, shoving reporters out of the way to get to Mike. To emphasize his point a half dozen Marines trailed in the wake behind him and more poured into the area to regain control. The reporters wisely backed off after one look at the agitated NCO.

A thin Army Captain trotted over. "So sorry about this 1st Sergeant. A little miscommunication on my part."

"Get them out of here sir, right now," Roy demanded, face red with rage. "He doesn't even know yet."

"What?" the Public Affairs officer started. "Oh, okay. Leave it to me."

The officer smoothly interjected and began herding the reporters to another area of the base while edgy Marines stood ready to pounce on any who mis-stepped.

"What's this all about John?" Mike asked his friend in confusion. "What's going on?"

"Come on, I need to talk to you," he motioned Mike away from the group. "Why don't you come too," he added to Father Alexander.

"What's this about a medal?" Mike demanded, his faculties coming back to him.

"Listen, the colonel was going to tell you himself but he wanted you to get checked out first. That Public Affairs weenie jumped the gun. Sorry about that."

"But what's this about the CMH?" Mike raised his voice in growing agitation.

"Message came down from the Pentagon yesterday," Roy reported. "The president has authorized the Congressional Medal of Honor for your actions at the Robinson off ramp and the destruction of the first alien C-and-C asset back in August."

"What? That's impossible," Mike shook his head in disbelief. "Every guy deserves a medal for that, especially Lt. Martinez. There has to be some sort of mistake."

"There's no mistake Mike. I saw the message myself," the barrel-chested Marine confirmed. "We kept it quiet when we thought you were lost until the brass figured out what to do. But when we found out you guys were okay, well, the word must have leaked out." He looked accusingly at the Public Affairs officer but said nothing more.

"I don't want it," Mike responded bluntly. "I don't deserve it and I'm sure as hell not going to take it over the other guys." He folded his arms defensively. "I won't accept it."

"You sure about this Mike?" 1Sgt Roy asked.

"I can't do it John, it's just not right," Mike doggedly replied.

"Well, I understand where you're coming from and commend your sense of duty" his friend agreed, "but the brass is going to have a fit over this. You better go in and see the boss."

1st Sergeant Roy escorted Mike to the colonel's office in the battalion headquarters. The middle-aged Marine officer greeted the pair warmly until Roy explained to the man the purpose for them being there.

"Who in the hell do you think you are?" LCol Ritchie exploded, his eyes flashing. "You don't refuse the CMH and you sure as hell don't refuse the President of the United States."

"With all due respect sir…"

"Cut the crap Staff Sergeant," LCol Ritchie cut him off, in no mood for pleasantries. "What's this all about?"

"Sir, its not that I'm ungrateful for this, I am. It's a great honor…but if anyone deserved to be recognized for what we did out there its 2Lt Martinez. If he hadn't blown that C4 we'd never have gotten off the I10 and we'd all be history. Or it could go to Lance Corporal Domingez. If he hadn't exposed himself to warn us the squids C-and-C unit would still be up. Either of them should get it, not me."

"Hm," the career soldier ran his hands through his close cropped salt and pepper hair. "I respect that Staff Sergeant, I really do. It takes a big man to make that kind of statement but it doesn't wash."

"Why not?"

"Don't you get it?" the senior commander exploded anew. "This country needs live heroes not dead ones! We're hanging on by a thread here and people need to know there's still some hope. They need people to pin that hope on."

"Me?"

"You."

"Well I still don't want it," Mike stated belligerently though his resolved seemed shaky.

"Well you have no choice Staff Sergeant Nantz so you better cowboy up and do it for the Corp."

Outside the battalion HQ while the discussion raged on, the story was already getting out to some of the members of Mike's team.

"He turned it down?" Lockett asked Santos in surprise after her report of the staff sergeant's refusal. "He said no to the CMH?"

"He did," the Air Force tech sergeant confirmed, leaning on crutches to support her broken leg.

"No way," Imlay interjected. "I don't believe it, not even about him. No one is that stupid."

"I was there man," she confirmed. "I was giving my report at the BHQ when he walks in with the 1st Sergeant and tells the colonel. Well the guy goes ballistic. I think he's going to have a brain aneurism and croak. But the staff sergeant won't back down. They want to take him to Washington and everything but flat out says no."

"Unbelievable," Lockett shook his head. "Well, good for him. He's got more guts then me. I'd never say no." He then paused as something caught his attention. "I think things are going to get a little more interesting," the African-American corporal observed, pointing to an armored convoy escorting a Humvee with a flag flying three stars pulling into the compound.

Inside the headquarters an orderly knocked loudly on the office door to get the attention of the still-yelling officer.

"Colonel? General Daily is here," the staff member reported, though he was loath to interrupt his commanding officer, especially when he was chewing someone out.

Ritchie looked at Mike with a raised eyebrow. "Why don't you tell the general you don't want it since he's coming to congratulate you?"

Mike sighed, feeling the weight on his shoulder's growing. This was wrong, all wrong. But what choice did he have? He didn't want to look ungrateful or arrogant but he didn't deserve it.

Listen, Staff Sergeant…Mike," Ritchie softened. "I can imagine how you feel. They didn't make it out, you did. Plus, a CMH comes with a lot of expectation and baggage."

Mike lowered his head to avoid the older man's stare, nodding his head slowly in agreement. He knew the reality of what was being told to him and what needed to be done, confirming the colonel's suspicion.

"You can't turn it down, it's not right," LCol Ritchie reasoned in a low voice. "Do it for the guys who won't get it and deserve it. Then do everything you can to make sure their memories are honored."

Mike absently rubbed the cleft in his chin, understanding the reality of his situation and why he had to do it. "You're right sir," he agreed quietly. "I'm sorry if I sounded ungrateful. I'm not. I'm honored. It's just…it just kind of was sprang on me. I never thought something like this would ever happen to me. I'm no hero. I'm just doing my job."

"I understand son," the colonel moved closer and patted him on the shoulder. "I heard what happened and that was wrong. If you think I chewed you out wait until I get a hold of that PAFFO."

Mike chuckled, a sense of relief at his decision coming over him. Then he began to look at the situation differently. "Maybe I can give them a voice and tell their story. Let's go and see the general so I can tell him how pleased I am to be honored this way."

"Good man," Daily clapped him on the shoulder and they left the private office to begin a new level of complication.

**[Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA]**

Michele wandered aimlessly towards the rec center near the hospital. She'd completed her rounds automatically not even sure what she'd said or done. The life had gone out of her, like the air being let out of a balloon. Though busy, the woman felt she had no purpose, no future. Where once she'd had some exciting plans, despite the war, now there seemed to be only darkness.

Her Blackberry chirped its annoyingly cheerful tone to announce she had a text message come in. _Probably from my sister_, she thought, _it's about time_.

She absently pulled out the sleek slate grey device and looked at the screen. _Alexander McNair. Who's that? _She wondered.

Then it hit her.

He was the priest who had told her about Mike, the one who despite being so kind had devastated her life. It wasn't his fault, she should feel guilty for the ill feelings she had towards him but couldn't get up the energy_. _

_He's likely checking in on me_, she surmised. Looking coldly down at the message, her heart nearly exploded at what she saw:

_Praise God! Michael is alive. His team just got out this morning. _

_I can't tell you more right now but wanted you to know the good_

_news. More to come when I can._

_Mike, alive?_ Michele's heart raced. Could this be? Was she dreaming?

"Michele! Come quick!"

A nurse she knew from the hospital who had sat with her as she cried at the news was urgently waving her towards the rec center. "Come on! You've got to see this. Your boyfriend is on TV!"

The words hit her like a javelin. Not even registering the 'boyfriend' comment she ran as fast as she could, taking the three steps up into the building in one bound. A TV hung from the wall in a corner and it seemed to be tuned to a news broadcast. A group of people stood around looking up at the report fixated by what was going on. She stopped dead in her tracks, the nurse who had been trailing behind crashed into her it had been so sudden. Mike was in the center of the screen flanked by a husky African American officer wearing general stars and a tall, thin man in a suit who was talking. The words, which rang clear in the building, caused her to start.

"…..pleased to announce on behalf of the president that Staff Sergeant Michael Nantz of the 2nd Battalion 5th Marines is to be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for his heroism in the face of the enemy in August. He will be presented the medal at a ceremony at the White House as soon as it can be arranged…."

Michele tuned the rest of the speech out, her head reeling. Not only was Mike alive but now he was a genuine hero, being awarded the country's highest honor. What did it mean for her? For them? After their last time together, would he even want to see her again? The moment of elation she'd had at the priest's text now seemed to drain away in the anxiety of the unknown, like an enemy opening a new front.


	21. Chapter 21 Reluctant hero

CHAPTER 21- Reluctant hero

"I'm no hero," Mike said uncomfortably yet firmly into the camera. "Heroes are guys like Lt. William Martinez, Lance Corporal Julio Domingez and Pte. Kearns. They all gave their lives for this cause and we'd be sunk if not for their sacrifices." His voice became stronger as conviction built. "It was my privilege to serve with them and it's their stories I want to tell."

"That's great Staff Sergeant Nantz," the civilian wearing a tailored Hugo Boss suit interjected. "Your humility certainly does you credit." He then turned to the collected group of reporters keeping himself between them and Mike. "That's all for now but be sure once he's had a chance to rest they're be more opportunities for interviews. My office will have full press schedules and ensure the access that you want."

The man took Mike by the elbow and moved him into an adjacent building. Todd Brooker had flown in from Washington to take control of the public relations coverage of the new hero. A top reporter for NBC before being tapped to join the White House press office, the man was connected and knew what buttons to push to get the coverage needed. He'd been given the job of maximizing the exposure of this medal building goodwill and also political capital as quickly as possible.

"Well done staff sergeant," Brooker said with a broad smile. "You did great. In a week you'll be ready for your own talk show."

Mike grimaced, not realizing the gregarious man was joking. "When can I get back to my unit sir?" he asked the general, ignoring the man from the White House.

"Pardon?" Brooker responded, as if he hadn't heard the question properly.

"When can I get back in the fight," Mike repeated.

"Good one staff sergeant, that's funny," Brooker chuckled at the serious question. "You have far more important things to do now and you are way too valuable to be anywhere near the front."

"What?" Mike exploded, "No way. No way you're taking me out of the game."

"That's not really your choice Marine," the White House man answered coldly.

"Listen, everyone just calm down," General Daily interjected. "Staff sergeant, go to the mess hall and get some chow. Make sure your people are all squared away then we'll talk. Dismissed."

"But," Brooker tried to counter.

"Mr. Brooker, you and I need to have a talk," the general said easily but firmly.

Mike left as quickly as he could, ignoring the look from 1st Sergeant Roy and the calls from several lingering reporters.

Walking towards the mess hall several soldiers called out congratulations to him which made him feel uncomfortable. He saw Imlay, Lockett and Santos lingering around so steered over to where they were.

"Guys, I want you to know that all of this stuff is none of my doing," Mike began to explain before he'd even reached them...

Realizing he was there, Lockett cut him off, "Hey, way to go Staffs!"

"Yea, congratulations staff sergeant," Imlay added, "about time the weenies in Washington got something right."

"You're not mad about this?" Mike exclaimed in surprise.

"Mad? Why would we be?" Santos asked, taken aback.

"Because all of you deserve a medal. The guys we lost…I mean…"

"You got us through all this, you made it happen. You deserve it," Imlay countered.

"Straight up," Lockett agreed with a grin, the sun catching his gold tooth.

Mike was genuinely confused but also appreciated their vote of confidence. He loved these people for it. "Thanks guys. That means a lot. I never wanted it but…"

"But you'll do the Corps proud and us too staff sergeant," Santos cut him off. "Come on, let me buy you guys a beer before I get shipped back to the rear," she added.

Mike looked at her with disappointment, seeing the cast on her leg and realizing what that meant.

The perceptive Latino Air Force sergeant caught the look and chuckled. "Ah, don't worry about it. I need to get back to the rear anyway. Now that I'm famous I have a certain captain I need to be a pain in the ass to."

Mike started laughing and couldn't stop, his sides beginning to hurt. Though the joke wasn't all that funny the release of tension and knowing his team wasn't mad at him gave him the sense of relief he desperately needed.

Two hours later he stood in LCol Ritchie's office with his CO and also General Dailey. The pair of senior officers prepared for a conflict of wills with the stubborn Marine but found him more reflective after the time he'd spent with his team.

"You need to do this staff sergeant, for the good of the Corps and the good of the country," General Daily reasoned with him. "I know it's a hard thing to ask. No sergeant worth his stripes would want this kind of dog-and-pony show. But we need this, the country needs this. It's an important assignment."

Ritchie opened his mouth to echo the words but Mike cut him off. "I understand sir. I'm sorry if I sounded belligerent before. I am honored. I just needed some time to think about it."

"So you're on board then?" the colonel asked to confirm.

"Yes sir, I am," Mike answered to the obvious relief of the officers. Neither had wanted to force the man to do it. "I only have a couple of things I'd like in return."

"Name them," General Daily replied carefully.

"I want you to promise me once I've done my tour and rallied the people I can come back and finish this if it's still going on. I want to be back in the 2-5 and I want to be on the front."

"Well we'll have to see staff sergeant," LCol Ritchie began hesitantly. "The man from the White House sees you as a pretty valuable asset and not one he's likely going to allow into harms way. I'm not sure about that."

"I am," General Daily cut him off. "That's a fair request and it does you credit. Yes, I can make sure that happens."

"But sir, what about Mr. Brooker? He'll have a fit over this," Ritchie protested.

The stocky African American commander chuckled. "That makes it an even easier decision. I'll make sure you get back to the front. Anything else?"

"Yes general. I need to talk to someone in the rear area. I'd like the chance to do that before I ship out."

"Done. I'll arrange a helo but I want you back by 1800hrs," General Ritchie agreed. "Thanks for this staff sergeant. I won't forget it."

Less then two hours later Mike arrived at the refugee city with a sense of anticipation. A plan had been forming in his mind and excitement mingled with nervousness began to build. An hour later frustration gave way as he couldn't accomplish what he'd set out to do and he watched the time ticking away. He had wanted to see Michele then go see Hector together. She wasn't at her room nor was she at the hospital. He'd been given several leads but none panned out. Each place he went to she wasn't. What had originally seemed like a simple thing turned complex. He'd been hoping to have a 'moment' with her before going on the tour he didn't want to. Most importantly, he wanted her to be clear on how he felt and ensure there was no lingering miscommunication.

`Frustration began to build giving way eventually to a growing panic. What if he didn't find her? What if her attitude had changed? What if he was off base about her feelings and setting himself up for another fall?

Doubt began to build, lingering fears Mike thoughts he'd eradicated slithered in. He needed to talk to her. Out of options he cruised around the encampment hoping to see her all the time watching his time evaporate. The idea of seeing Hector became moot. He'd spent too much time trying to find Michele so the chance to go to the other side of the sprawling refugee city had passed.

Mike wasn't the only one watching the clock. The young Marine driving him at first subtly checked the time but then as the hour for their return to base came and passed he began to be more overt about it. Mike ignored the hint, hoping for a miracle.

It didn't come.

"Staff Sergeant Nantz, we need to be getting going," his driver finally informed him apologetically, stating the obvious. "I got a call from the General's aide that we need to be back to the staging area on time and ready to roll."

Mike wondered what to do. He heart said stay but his sense of duty overruled that. Reluctantly he signaled to the soldier only doing his duty to take him to the already warming up helicopter. Mike went like a man with a heavy burden, the little excitement he'd had at the opportunity the tour presented gone.

Michele saw the Humvee drive past her but didn't see who was inside. Too late she returned to her billet. She'd decided to get away from everything going on so had gone out to the desert to clear her head. When she heard Mike had been there looking for her confusion reined rather then assurance. Why had he come? Why couldn't he stay? Had he come to say goodbye? The man was a hero now, a man in demand. Why would he be interested in a messed-up woman who wasn't willing to stake a claim to his affections? A chill overcame the woman despite the warm fall day.

Things had gone from bad to worse it seemed for the couple.

At 1800hrs, as promised, Mike returned to the 2-5 operating area and faced a full news conference set up by Todd Brooker. It went well but his sense of anticipation had been quelled. Afterwards, he'd been given orders to prepare to leave with the man from Washington and several Public Affairs officers. The prospect of traveling with this group didn't help.

Packing in his tent, Mike felt like a man preparing for exile. Unsure what to do, anxious about the unfamiliar territory he was going in, certain he would fail at this, make things worse and dishonor those he hoped to speak for, Mike had a heavy heart. He didn't know what to do so in desperation he prayed.

"Knock, knock," a voice came from outside.

Mike was startled by how quickly an answer seemed to arrive. Father Alexander stuck his head in the flap. "I hope I'm not interrupting you Michael," the priest said.

"No, actually your timing is perfect," Mike replied in a bit of shock at the unexpected turn.

"You look like a man going to the chair rather then a hero who's about to be wined and dined across the country," Father Alexander chuckled.

"You know I don't want that," Mike shot back blackly.

"I know; I'm sorry. I shouldn't jest about that," the priest apologized.

"Naw, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped like that."

"You look troubled. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Yea, you can. I'm ready for this. It's the right thing to do," Mike admitted to himself as much as to the clergyman. "It's just Michele and Hector. I wanted to make things right with her…to tell her how I feel. But I couldn't find her and had to come back. Now I'm leaving in the morning and I don't know when I'll see her next. It's so frustrating."

The tormented Marine fell silent while the priest looked at him compassionately. The pair sat silently together for several minutes.

"I love her Father," Mike suddenly blurted out. "It's more then that. I'd…I'd like to have a future with her, and Hector too. It's just this war keeps getting in the way of it."

The priest thought for a moment then his face lit up. "I'm happy for you Michael." The quizzical look on the young man's faced called for an explanation. "I'm glad that you've found your heart again despite all this. It's been a long, hard journey for you since Amanda left. You deserve this. Why don't you write her a letter? I'll take it to her and we'll leave the rest in God's hands."

"I never thought of it that way," Mike perked up. "I've seen the last few years as nothing but pain but maybe…maybe all the destruction has only made my desire to have something different stronger."

"Good. Those are good and true feelings," the priest encouraged. "Its sometimes only in our adversity that we can truly see who we are."

"Thanks. I appreciate that," the Marine responded warmly. "I don't know what I would do without you. I'll write that letter for her right away."

Father Alexander clapped him on the back then helped the troubled Marine with his packing, praying silently for him the whole time.

On schedule, the following morning Mike flew off on a MV-22 Osprey a letter for Michele written and in the hands of Father Alexander.

The seasoned combat veteran had experienced pitched battles in Iraq, Afghanistan and now in the war against the aliens. He'd fought all form of enemy but nothing prepared him for what he experienced. Moving to a staging area for troops and material flowing into the west coast combat areas he was briefed on what to expect. It didn't sound great. It turned out worse. Not comfortable in the spotlight, he began a cross country tour stopping at major urban centers along the way to meet local dignitaries, being interviewed by the local press and generally becoming a poster boy for the war effort. All the time CNN and the other major TV networks plus several large newspapers travelled along with him. By his count there was over 100 people swirling around waiting to broadcast or report his every word and action. The first day he used a particularly pointed profanity to describe the situation in LA and that had led to an hour-long debrief with Todd Brooker on how to properly describe things.

Not fun. He began to feel like a raw recruit again.

The whole tour was to culminate in his medal ceremony at the White House the end of the week. Mike desperately hoped that once he had the award they'd let him go back to the 2-5. Unfortunately the aliens had a different plan.

Three days into the tour they launched a surprise offensive on the east coast in an attempt to break out. Almost an entire army division was decimated in the well-orchestrated and co-coordinated assault. New York City almost fell but a heroic defensive action by a largely National Guard force held them back.

As all this transpired alien drones flying cover for ground forces even pushed out towards Washington. Though checked outside the city limits the impact created panic in the capital. Despite protests, the president and most of the cabinet was evacuated by the Secret Service to Philadelphia. With the political machine on its heels things like medals took a back seat. The result was a renewed sense of anxiety for the future of the nation. The people became desperate for good news, for hope. That good news and hope began to rest on the shoulders of Staff Sergeant Mike Nantz.

The offensive not only caused the tour to shift inland but led to an increase in frequency and intensity. Large crowds began to come out to listen to Mike's reflections on the conflict as he shared what he and the other soldiers were experiencing. Despite his discomfort with the spotlight, or perhaps because of it, he became an instant celebrity. The simple reports of the combat soldier contrasted with the supposed expert analysts who filled the television talk shows in their tailored suits consistently showing they didn't know what they were talking about. The wisdom and straight forward sense of duty from the Marine began to galvanize the people giving them much needed resolve.

Mike hated the attention but began to see the importance of what he was doing. This caused the already conflicted man even more since he desperately wanted to be back in LA doing his part for the fight but seeing the importance of the morale-boosting he was providing. The entourage he travelled with didn't help.

The soldiers with him were soldiers in name only. They were bureaucrats in uniforms, none seeing any combat and only interested in optics and presentation. Brooker was extremely focused and tried to tightly control the message. He and Mike clashed frequently as the humble Marine kept trying to tell what he'd seen and experienced rather then the tailored messages he was given each day.

It wasn't that Mike was trying to be belligerent. He wasn't. It was just he felt the people wanted to hear what the soldiers on the front line were experiencing. They appreciated hearing of the effort and sacrifice they were making, rather then be spoon-fed a bunch of rah-rah propaganda.

One week of this back-and-forth turned into two and despite Brooker's growing frustration with Mike the people of America were captivated by the staff sergeant and his message of bravery and hope found in the American fighting forces. This only increased the already high tension between them.

A new conflict was brewing as a result, one for how the war would be presented. Unfortunately this was one Mike wasn't equipped to fight. Despite wanting to go back to the front he began to fear what would happen if he left and this shadowy figure would be allowed to manipulate the message unchecked. Mike finished the second week of the tour preparing to leave for Columbus Ohio, conflicted and lonely.


	22. Chapter 22 Complication

**Chapter 22 - complication**

Michele read the note a fourth time, trying not to allow the tears welling freely from her eyes to fall onto it. The letter had been written hastily, as Father Alexander explained, but Mike's thoughts were very clear. He did have feelings for her, strong feelings. He wanted to talk to her, spend time with her, when he got back from his tour. Would she wait for him he'd asked. She would. Her heart began to soar at the possibilities and what the future held. A cloud lifted. She'd do it right this time, no more holding back, no more hesitation.

She gave herself over to the quiet but solid Marine totally, the exhilaration of it causing her to giggle like a school girl at a Justin Bieber concert. It felt good. She couldn't wait to hear from him again.

**[Columbus Convention Centre, Columbus Ohio]**

Tension grew in Mike as he prepared to leave the ready room that had been set up for him back stage before speaking in the main auditorium. This was to be his second speech of the day in Columbus. The first had gone really well. He'd talked to a combined assembly of several high schools in the city. Brooker had been aggravated though when he'd left out the pitch to join up and fight the aliens.

It wasn't that Mike didn't believe in the cause, or didn't want people to join. It was just he didn't want to see himself as a walking recruiting poster. He was there to encourage, perhaps even inspire, but he wouldn't allow his message to be turned into some commercial.

Joining the Marines, or any branch of the military, had to come from within. It was a big commitment with tremendous cost at times. There had to be a sense of calling, a desire to serve. Too often he'd see over the year's idealistic young men and women join for the wrong reasons and suffer as a result. He'd seen too many who joined to get a free education or to learn a trade only end up being thrust into the war on terror with disastrous consequences. No, he wasn't going to do that.

So he had to endure another lecture about being a 'team player'. Brooker had patronizingly spoke down his nose about him doing his part and allowing those more knowledgeable in these things to do theirs like he as in kindergarten. It made him want to puke but he held his tongue.

This event would be different. He was to speak to a group of business leaders at the convention center then do a mix and mingle. His speech would focus on the need for the commerce of America to join in the fight by supporting it and the country financially. Mike was to tell them to continue doing what they were doing, to support the effort by creating jobs, generating tax revenue, blah, blah, blah. He'd given the message before, it wasn't difficult.

But something else stirred. For some strange reasons Mike's combat senses had kicked in as he entered the building. They went into high alert as he walked onto the stage to thunderous applause after his introduction by the president of the Columbus Area Chamber of Commerce.

As Mike spoke he went onto autopilot, going through the speech without changing it. This pleased Brooker since it had been the first time in three days this happened. Instead Mike scanned for threats, checked his exits, and even opened his stance to balance his weight more effectively, all things he'd done to keep himself alive in combat.

Then the speech was over. The chamber president, a heavy-set African American man in an expensive suit, came over and pumped his hand as the crowd rose to its feet in applause.

_Must have been a good speech_, Mike though, _too bad I missed it_. The Marine felt a bit foolish for reacting the way he did_. I must be losing my touch if I'm getting all jumped up in this kind of crowd_. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling of an imminent threat. _Weird._

Brooker beamed as Mike passed, giving him a thumb's up sign. Mike then began the process of being introduced and trying to be the hero everyone thought him to be. This went on for several minutes working through the room as hor dourves and cocktails were served by white-coated waiters.

"Mike, Mike Nantz!" a female voice called out but was lost in the din of conversation.

Mike missed it but Brooker didn't. He saw an attractive, fashionably dressed blonde haired woman trying hard to get the Marine's attention. Wearing a short black skirt with high heels and a tailored suit jacket the woman looked stunning. The former news reporter smelled a great photo op so began to signal the press entourage around him to prep for something significant. He then began to work his way through the crowd to ensure the intersection he sought happened.

"Mike Nantz!"

Mike froze as he heard his name called from the crowd. Things suddenly went very quiet though he'd just been introduced to the president of the Columbus Blue Jackets hockey club. He recognized the voice.

It couldn't be.

This had to be a mistake, a nightmare perhaps. Mike felt himself begin to perspire. He turned to face it, not realizing his security detail was clearing an area around him.

It was Amanda.

Flashing a somewhat embarrassed but radiant smile she glided over to the shocked man. Embracing him tightly Mike's ex-wife planted a kiss on his cheek as three dozen cameras went off along with a half-dozen video cameras catching the event. She pulled back though continued to hold onto his arms with her hands. Amanda laughed lightly noticing the lipstick on his cheek which she then wiped away.

Mike stood frozen, unsure what to do, his brain unable to process what had just happened so allowed it to crash over him like tsunami. "Amanda, what are you doing here?"

"A lot has changed Mike," she answered, her eyes fixed on him. "Can we talk?" she asked politely.

"I don't know. I mean…," Mike stammered, trying to regain his lost equilibrium.

Brooker stepped in to ensure the contact continued to roll. "Sure, that can be arranged. Miss?

"Nantz. Amanda Nantz."

The press agent smelled a Pulitzer. "Leave it with me. Thirty minutes and I'll have a room for you two. Mr. Hess," he then redirected to the chamber president who'd heard the whole exchange, "can you arrange this for me?"

"Anything you need sir," the man beamed, thankful for the opportunity to show his stuff with this much press around. He raised his hand and the wheels began to turn.

Thirty minutes later Mike sat across from the woman who had nearly destroyed his life.

"What are you doing in Ohio?" Mike asked, trying to buy time to figure out what was going on.

The last half hour had been a disaster. He couldn't concentrate, stumbling over his words and generally making himself look like an idiot in front of the high-powered crowd. The only thing Mike really remembered was agreeing to join the Blue Jackets president for a game in his private box that night.

"I came here about a year ago to run one of my father's plants," she answered, her eyes fixed on him.

Mike felt like she was trying to drown him in the blue depths but then anger flashed as he remembered what she had done to him. "And did Bill come with you?" he shot back testily.

"No, we're not together Mike. It was over long before I came here." She dropped her eyes, now she being the uncomfortable one. "I…I made a mistake Mike…with us. I was wrong…about a lot of things…I'm…I'm sorry." Tears welled up in her eyes and began to run freely down her cheeks pulling involuntarily at Mike's heart. "If there was anything I could do to change it…to make it right….I know I hurt you badly…I was so selfish…so wrong."

Mike sat in a lounge chair stunned by the profession. He felt as if an anvil had been dropped on him and didn't know what to do. A part of his heart ached but then he remembered that night and what it did to him. Sorry wasn't enough.

"I accept your apology Amanda," Mike answered, trying to keep his own voice in check, "I appreciate that. You did hurt me, deeply. But I've moved on from that. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get going."

He stood up and walked out, hoping to free himself of the conflicted emotions welling up inside.

Brooker, who had watched the exchange, frowned as he watched his story angle evaporate.

Despite Mike's reaction, the news went like wildfire across the country. With interest in the Marine already high the identity of the mysterious blonde became one people wanted to know. His went from a story about a military hero to a human interest story thus widening the exposure. In short order the information of Amanda's identity and their past relationship was released. Almost immediately a rumor began to circulate of a possible reconciliation between the estranged couple.

Excitement built quickly and exponentially as the news sizzled through the internet and over television as people starved for a story of this nature with Hollywood out of commission sought more information. Before supper time it had played on all the major media outlets with pictures and video being shown and reshown. It even made it back to LA.

**[Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA]**

Michele booted up her Toshiba Satellite laptop then opened the internet browser. She was thankful access had been re-established in the past two weeks right around the time another MacDonalds opened in the encampment, giving the guise of an almost return to normalcy. If it weren't for the fact the people were living in plywood constructed buildings people might just get used to it. That and if they travelled to LA and saw the devastation themselves. But people are resilient so a routine, including the internet, seemed to be growing.

For Michele this was secondary. After reading Mike's letter she became eager to follow his progress, feeling it gave them a connection of sorts until he returned and they could be together. Todd Brooker's efforts had been successful so finding pictures, articles and videos of his tour were not difficult to access. She knew from the previous day that he'd be in Ohio so looked forward to her time with him as she'd come to consider it, a long distance connection.

It had been a particularly difficult day since a batch of casualties had come in from an alien surge. Seeing the suffering of the men holding the line pulled at her heart and reminded her of the reality and suffering going on. Mike's message of heroic sacrifice became that much more important to those not witnessing it. This was no movie, it was real life and she wondered if the media-saturated people of America used to action films and video games would realize this.

She put those thoughts away for now, eager to lose herself in Mike's activities. What she saw caused her heart to skip a beat. On the Yahoo homepage in full color was a picture of Mike with a gorgeous blonde hanging on his arm. The blue headline screamed: War Hero battling for ex-wife.

Mouth suddenly dry, Michele swallowed hard and read it again, looking hard at the picture. She clicked on the link and read the article. There was little information other then a confirmation that he and his ex-wife had connected at an event in Columbus Ohio. She went to a video link where she watched the encounter between the two. Her heart began to beat so hard she thought it would burst out of her chest. The news commentator enthusiastically reported that rumors were already circulating that Staff Sergeant Nantz and his estranged wife Amanda Nantz were seeking to work towards a reconciliation.

Beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead as her hands began to shake.

"And we here at NBC Nightly News wish the two the best. Hopefully something good will come out of all this man's efforts and sacrifices," the anchor saluted the pair.

Michele ran to the bathroom to throw up.

**Nationwide Arena, Columbus Ohio**

"Please welcome Congressional Medal of Honor winner US Marine Corp Staff Sergeant Mike Nantz," the public address announcer's voice boomed through the arena as the Halls of Montezuma began to play through the arena and a spotlight shined to the box where an uncomfortable Mike stood to wave to the cheering crowd.

Despite battles raging on each coast in the mid-west life was fairly normal this Tuesday night in October and that included professional sports.

The puck dropped to begin the regular season National Hockey League game between the hometown Blue Jackets and the Detroit Red Wings. Mike had never seen a hockey game before so the president of the team explained some of the nuances of the fast-paced event. The Marine found he enjoyed the action as the contest went back and forth.

Then he heard the voice again and the night changed for him.

Amanda, dressed in tight jeans, high boots and a red leather jacket, not only came into the box but slid into the empty seat beside him, placing a hand on his forearm in a friendly gesture. Mike looked around wildly to try to figure out how this happened spying a beaming Todd Brooker at the back of the box eagerly watching their exchange. The tough solider would have killed the man if he thought he could have gotten away with it.

Amanda chattered away like nothing had changed with them while Mike tried to ignore the woman and watch the game. Unknown to him, cameras were snapping pictures of the pair and the news already was going out over the internet.

Finally, Mike could stand the charade no longer. "What are you up to Amanda?' he demanded.

"What do you mean?" she asked in surprise, her expressive eyes going wide.

"I don't hear from you for years," he retorted angrily. "I don't hear from you since our divorce in fact and only then I heard from your lawyer. Nothing!" his voice began to rise causing those around him to watch what was going on. "Then today you show up and pretend like nothing has gone on. You had an affair. You abandoned me for another guy. Another military guy, even though you did nothing but complain about it while we were married."

"Mike, I…" she tried to explain.

"Now you show up here tonight," he cut her off, "and want to hold my hand and touch my arm. What kind of game are you playing?"

"You're right," she agreed quietly, averting his eyes. "It must seem sudden and forward to you. But I've been thinking about this and praying about it for a long time."

"Don't bring God into this," Mike demanded, "because what you did He wouldn't approve of. Even I know that."

"You're right again. But there is forgiveness. I was wrong. I hurt you….hurt you badly. I didn't understand a lot of things. I didn't appreciate you the way I should. But this war…"

"Has made me some kind of hero so now attractive to you, right?" he sarcastically cut her off.

"No. No Mike it's not that," she tried to counter. "No, I see how hard it is for you, for all of you. Before you were gone someplace else, and wouldn't talk about it. It didn't impact me so I didn't understand."

"And now you do?"

"Yes, I think I do. I have no right to try to work back into your life. But I do want to apologize for what I did, to make it right. But if you'd like me to leave I will and never bother you again."

Every fiber of Mike's person screamed at him to take her up on the offer that this was a path he didn't want to go down. But something else stirred within him too, something he couldn't put his finger on.

"No, it would be okay if you stayed," he responded meekly eliciting a warm hug and radiant smile from the woman.

**[Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA]**

Two plus hours had passed since Michele had watched the video. She hadn't moved since, totally immobilized. The nausea had passed but her heart was sick. She didn't know what to do, what to believe. In desperation she picked up her phone to call Mike but didn't have a number for him. Instead she scrolled through her previous calls to find the one she sought then pushed the button.

"Father Alexander?" she confirmed.

"Michele, is that you?" the priest asked, afraid of the call since he'd seen the reports also.

"Yes. Do you know what's going on with Mike?" she asked desperately. "Why is he with his ex-wife?"

"I don't know," the clergyman answered with pained honesty. "I'm as surprised as you are."

"What about his letter?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions Michele," Father Alexander counseled. "This could be a chance encounter."

"But what about what the media is saying?" Michele sharply pressed him.

"I wouldn't put a lot of stock in that. They're looking for a story."

"I'm so confused," the hurting woman confessed. "Maybe his letter didn't mean what I thought. Maybe he wants to come back to tell me he's done with me. I mean look at her. She's gorgeous, rich, successful."

"And also broke his heart before," the priest reminder her, "let's not forget that. I was there when he wrote the letter he meant….," his voice trailed off as if suddenly distracted.

"Father Alexander? Are you there? Is something wrong?" Michele cried into the phone.

The priest, mouth agape, watched a video report from the Nationwide Arena showing Mike and Amanda together, she touching him frequently with a voice over reporting the two of them together at an NHL game as guests of the team president.

"What's going on?" Michele screamed on the other end.

"Uhm…..I'm not sure," the priest said evasively, not wanting to lie but also not wanting to tell the already-troubled woman what he was watching. "Let me get in touch with Michael and find us an explanation for all this," he responded.

Michele figured something else was going on so searching her own computer she saw what had caused the clergyman to stop talking, setting off a new wave of nausea.


	23. Chapter 23 Decisions

**Chapter 23 -decisions**

**Burbank California, Western Ave and North Glenoaks Blvd.**

The Marines were on a rest break. They'd spent the early hours of the morning tracking a group of aliens who had been trying to break the human line. Their motivation and intention had caused concern from command so they had dispatched the company-sized fighting patrol to find out and eliminate them.

The current objective in the campaign for the 2-5 Marines and the battle group they were part of had shifted to Burbank and the goal of capturing the Burbank-Glendale-Pasadena Airport. Holding that would allow the humans a better staging area for assaults into metropolitan LA. Unfortunately for the humans, the aliens had seemed to figure that out too so were stubbornly fighting back.

As soldiers do, they went from tension to relaxation in a moment. The topic of interest in one particular group became the news reports they'd picked up overnight on Staff Sergeant Nantz through the internet.

"Hey, did you see the picture of Staffs and the blonde?" Lockett asked the guys in the squad, tearing into some powerbars.

"Word. She was fine," Pte. Rico Gains agreed. "I wouldn't mind an assignment like that."

"I don't know guys," Imlay joined in, not so exuberant. "It doesn't make sense to me that he'd get involved with her. I mean he seems pretty sweet on that woman we pulled out of the police station back in August. I think they're serious."

"Yea and what's the problem of having a little R and R while he's away?" Gains interjected, fist bumping another man in the squad. "What? He too much of a hero to have a little hook-up?"

"Shut your mouth Rico," Imlay shot back, irritated by the tone. "You don't know nothing about him or her."

"Whatever. What's your problem dude? You his mom?" the Marine retorted, spitting on the ground for emphasis.

Lockett jumped to his feet, the fatigue of the long patrol suddenly gone. "Watch your mouth man!"

The other was up in an instant, fists clenched, the growing tension of the conflict finding a new outlet. "Yea, what you goin' to do about it big shot?"

The two looked like they might come to blows except that their platoon sergeant, a massive African American with a shaved head, stepped in.

"What's going on here?" Sergeant Ed Gibbs demanded.

"Nothin'," the two said, glaring at each other.

"That was a rhetorical statement," Gibbs shot back. "I could hear your whole argument. Probably the aliens we're doggin' could too. You sound like a bunch of old ladies at the beauty shop gossiping about the stars. Pathetic! If you spent less time surfing on your iPhones for crap info and more focusing on getting the job done we'd win this war," he glared at the pair then shot a withering glance to the rest of the soldiers who averted their eyes from his. "Now all of you, shut your mouths and get ready to move out."

"Everything okay here?" Lt. Gordon stepped into the crowd of Marines, an irritated look on his handsome face. He'd heard too.

"Naw, things are under control here L.T.," Sergeant Gibbs answered glaring at the soldiers.

"Good. We can't afford conflict in the ranks. We got enough troubles to deal with."

As if prophetically, one of their perimeter guards yelled out, "Contact, squids in bound."

A flurry of grenades slammed into their position, hitting several lounging Marines and sending the others scrambling. The aliens the 2-5 company had been tracking seemed to have backtracked and come back on them. Infantry caste aliens aggressively pressed the flatfooted Marines at several points turning the tables. The hunters now became the hunted.

Gordon flipped from the posture of irritated parent to efficient tactician in a nano-second. "1st squad, defensive perimeter. Hammer them with the 203's. Keep 'em off us. Lockett, take your squad up the gut, check 'em. Imlay, 3rd squad, wedge them, don't let them concentrate."

Rather then back off the Marines met the attack head-on, countering the thrust. The bold tactic caught the aliens in the middle of setting up their attack causing their momentum to be broken. The battle-hardened leathernecks pressed the advantage pushing them back with concentrated fire and disciplined bounds forward co-coordinated by their platoon sergeant.

The aliens fell back in seeming disarray but it was again only a ruse in order to consolidate their position. The infantry caste soldiers paused but that was only to allow more reinforcements to arrive. They seemed to be developing tactics of their own to meet the human.

Not seeing this, the charging platoon sergeant looked behind him to yell, "Come on guys, we can break them!"

A moment later his head exploded from a direct hit by an alien machine gun, catching the surging Marines off guard. At the same time the invaders renewed their assault, supported by a walking gun, swarming all around the humans and threatening to envelope the now unsupported squads.

Gordon saw this and knew they were outmatched. "Pull back," he yelled into his radio to the surging squads but the adrenaline caused his voice to carry that far on its own. "Form on 1st squad. Defensive position. Hold the line!"

Imlay and Lockett had seen the same thing their platoon commander did as well so were relieved to receive the order. They efficiently brought their men back seeing the lieutenant had set up in a small community park that afforded excellent cover in addition to good lines of fire on the attacking aliens. Supported by 1st squad they placed their men to best hold off the assault just as the aliens started to surge anew.

Gordon switched frequencies in order to call for help. "Any stations, this is Echo-2-Hotel we are in heavy enemy contact and request assistance. We're at grid 20110520 and are hard pressed with casualties, over," the lieutenant called urgently. In one motion he dropped the handset and raised his M4A1 to drop a charging infantry caste alien who'd broken through their line. He scanned the location and could see two more men down which led to the gap. "Page," he yelled to one of the SAW gunners, "shift position and cover the breech, Doc, get to those men."

With the extra fire power the Marines put up a walking wall of lead to push back the aliens who had begun to drive a wedge into their position. With mounting casualties the aliens pulled back to probe another part of the line. The threat temporarily eliminated, despite the flurry of activity and air filled with explosive rounds, the leader slid over to his radio operator and tried to reach help again just as the aliens came charging in again. The situation was becoming desperate.

"Any stations, this is Echo-2-Hotel, we need immediate assistance. Can anyone assist? Over!" heart pounding Gordon shouted to try to hear himself over the growing noise of battle.

"This is Longhorn 3-5, 2-Hotel," a voice twanged over the radio, "we're on our way. Just hold on boys."

Though Gordon didn't recognize the call sign he was relieved that someone was coming to help since with the increased fire and growing numbers it would only be a matter of time before they were overrun.

"Sir, squids are starting to flank us, we need to adjust," Imlay yelled out desperately from the right, ducking as a flurry of grenades exploded around him.

The African-American officer looked and saw a sizeable group moving swiftly to the side, sliding along the line he'd established and finding the end. He didn't have any men to counter it, all were hotly engaged. "Imlay, drop part of your squad back, deny the flank," he ordered, knowing it wouldn't work. Help better get there soon.

_ Boom…Boom…Boom_

The ground erupted in fire and smoke around the main group of aliens who'd been concentrating for their attack on the beleaguered Marines. The sound of roaring engines overpowered the din of battle. Rumbling up the road six M2 Bradley Fighting Vehicles appeared. Their turrets swiveled left and right looking for targets. When any group of infantry caste aliens was discovered the tank's M242 25mm chain gun would spit out death in rapid succession.

Outmatched, and apparently without support, the aliens quickly broke contact and began to retreat in disarray. Four of the Bradley clanked past the Marine's position, while two stopped right in front of it. Dropping its rear ramp a half-dozen soldiers ran out and took up a defensive position. One medic trotted over looking to help Doc Adukwu with the wounded.

"You saved our butts," Lt. Gordon acknowledged, extending his hand up to the soldier now standing in the commander's hatch, "thanks. I'm Gordon, 2-5 Marines."

"Sure enough. Billy Gantry, Texas National Guard," the captain's voice twanged above the rumble of the engine from his AFV, "36th ID, happy to lend a hand."

"Well we do appreciate you guys bailing us out of a tight spot."

"When we heard your call we scampered over here as fast as we could," Gantry explained. "You boys have had all the fight so far and we've not been here too long. So if you don't mind, we'd love to stay around and jaw with you but me and the boys came here looking for a fight. We're going to push on."

Gordon chuckled at the gung-ho attitude, weary from the fight himself. "You'll find it, no troubles. Thanks again captain and good luck."

The officer threw a quick wave then spoke into his headset. Gordon could swear he heard a rebel yell coming from inside the tank. The column of

Bradley's then clanked off in search of the retreating enemy. The Marine lieutenant had not doubt with that kind of enthusiasm they'd win the war. With a laugh and shake of his head Gordon returned to the task of putting his banged-up platoon back together.

**Double Tree Suites Hotel, Columbus Ohio**

Sitting in a comfortable arm chair in his large suite, Todd Brooker heard the ping of his Blackberry and looked down at the incoming text. It was from that pesky priest from LA again. He smoothly dismissed the alert and went back to the conversation he'd been having with the reporter.

Brooker had been sharing some 'inside' information on what had been going on with Staff Sergeant Nantz. How the priest had gotten his cell number he didn't know but the guy was getting to be a pain. Didn't he have a church or something to run?

The priest had left several voice mails and text messages urgently wanting to get in touch with Nantz about an important matter. Like that was going to happen, Brooker thought. The war hero was too busy to speak to some clergyman looking for confession. The story of the Marine and his ex-wife was dynamite. The last thing he wanted was anything that would dampen the flames.

The press agent deleted the message and carried on totally focused on bringing his message to America.

In the same hotel's restaurant Mike nervously fidgeted with the napkin that sat on the elegant linen tablecloth at his table. Caught in the moment the previous evening, he'd agreed to meet Amanda for brunch the next morning after the game. Now his emotions were conflicted. He didn't trust her, yet what if she had changed? He had loved her deeply, what it….

Amanda entered the upscale dining establishment and lit up the room. Dressed in a black and brown fitted suit which complimented her figure, blonde hair swishing back and forth, she playfully waved at Mike then moved to sit at his table.

"Good morning Mike!" she announced cheerfully. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not bad. How about you?"

"Not as well as I could have," Amanda flirted with him. "I'm so glad we're getting the chance to get together and talk away from everyone." She placed her hand on his forearm. An electronic chirp came from her Louis Vuitton handbag. "Sorry about that," she apologized, "but I guess this is still a work day for me." She pulled a sleek Blackberry from the bag and quickly picked up the message her gorgeous face contorting in frustration. "Idiot!" she said under her breath.

"Pardon?" Mike asked in surprise.

"Not you darling," she purred. The general manager at my plant. The guy's totally useless on his own. She quickly tapped out a message and slid the device away. "Sorry about that." Then her sunny disposition returned.

Mike was stunned by how quickly the woman could flip in and out of emotions. This was something he'd not seen in her before.

The pair chatted lightly until a waiter took their order. Mike was surprised at how much he enjoyed the conversation as she recalled some of the good things they had experienced in the past. She skillfully played to some of his interests and he found himself leaning into the conversation.

"Michael, I'm not going to beat around the bush. I made a mistake when I got involved with that other guy. Your reaction was true and I was wrong. I've had a lot of time to think about it and also seen just how special you really are," Amanda confessed.

"Other guys huh?" Mike countered, trying to keep his emotions detached and in check but beginning to fall into a deep pit.

"Yes. I'm ashamed of it but won't lie to you," Amanda admitted, face reddening as she averted his glance. "But I've seen just how foolish I really have been. I'm willing to do anything I can to get you back," she confessed. "I know how to make you happy and I'd like the chance to show you that I've changed. What do you think?"

I…I…," Mike stammered, getting lost in her deep blue eyes.

"Sorry to interrupt," the waiter announced, delicately balancing two china plates of food, "here's your breakfast."

Amanda's eyes flashed angrily but she smiled sweetly. "Thank you."

Mike grabbed his fork and took a big bite of food. He'd found food had tasted better on this tour after the field rations he'd been eating in LA. He let the eggs sit in his mouth, savoring the moment, as he absorbed the taste.

"What is this?" Amanda demanded to herself. "This is all wrong. I can't eat this," she complained. "Waiter! Waiter!" she called out raising her voice to be heard. The young man, likely a college student, came rushing back.

"Yes ma'am?" he asked.

"These eggs benedict are all wrong."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he apologized. "What's the matter with them?

"I said they're wrong," she huffed. "That should suffice. Take them back and tell you chef to make them right or they're going back again."

The waiter scurried off after the reprimand while Mike sat his mouth slightly ajar at the exchange.

Amanda caught the look. "What?" she asked defensively. "If I let them get away with such poor cooking it'll impact their business. I'm only being honest," she defended herself.

In that instant Mike made up his mind. "Do you have any idea what the people in LA are eating right now Amanda? What the soldiers on the front are eating? And you send yours back?"

"Mike, come on. This is different," she protested, realizing she'd made some sort of mistake. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I didn't mean to be disrespectful of what the people are going through or what you've gone through."

"You don't get it. You never really have. Just because you're telling the truth it doesn't mean it's the right thing to do or even should be said," Mike answered in frustration. "It's always been about you and your needs." He held up his hand to stop her from speaking. "I appreciate your renewed interest and your offer to get together again. It's tempting but I've met someone already that I care deeply about. So my answer is no."

"So who's the lucky woman?" she asked huffily.

"I met her during the war. It doesn't really matter," he admitted. "What matters is I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

"I see," Amanda responded evenly. Then looking into his eyes she could see the resolve and knew any attempt to change him would be a waste of time. When her order came back she accepted it graciously, even apologizing to the waiter for being abrupt.

The pair then spent the remainder of their time together talking about old times and old friends. It was an altogether pleasant morning and they parted on good terms. Mike felt his heart soar. He'd passed an important test. Suddenly he desperately wanted to get back to LA and see Michele.

Walking back to his suite one of the members of Mike's protection detail, an ex-Marine now working with the Secret Service, nervously looked around before speaking. Ensuring no one else was in ear-shot he said in a low voice, "Did you know someone has been trying to get in touch with you?"

"No, who?" Mike answered surprised.

"It's some priest from LA. I thought you should know."

"Thanks. Do you know why I haven't gotten the message?"

Mike hadn't brought his cell phone along when he'd travelled. He didn't want the extra kit and really didn't want the contact. Besides, Brooker had told him he'd take care of all that stuff.

The Secret Service agent didn't answer the question as the two other members of his detail glided into position and they began the job of walking him to his room in the hotel. All along Mike thought it a bit comical that he needed 'protection' here in the rear area yet on the front line of battle he'd be on his own. Civilians had a funny mindset about threats.

Bothered by the brief conversation, Mike picked up the telephone sitting beside his bed as soon as he got back. Getting an outside line he dialed the number from memory.

"Hello?"

"Hey Father Alexander. I heard you were trying to get in touch with me," Mike said cheerfully, happy to hear the familiar voice.

"What's going on Michael?" the priest demanded in a clipped tone.

"What do you mean?" Mike asked a bit stunned.

"I've been trying to get in touch with you for three days."

"I didn't know," The Marine admitted. "What's up?"

"What's up?" Father Alexander raised his voice. "I wanted to talk to you about what's going on with you and Amanda."

"Me and Amanda? What are you getting at?"

"Have you not seen the news reports? The pictures out there?" Father Alexander asked incredulously. "I mean it's all over the press about you and her. They say the two of you are getting back together."

"What?" Mike exploded.

"It's nationwide and it's come back here. Michele saw and she's pretty upset."

Mike sat in shocked silence at the revelation. He could feel his heart begin to pound as the reality of his friend's words began to sink in. "Well yes, we did connect. And we did go out. But nothings going on. I told her so. I even told her about Michele."

"Really?"

"You don't believe me?" Mike shot back, irritated at being misunderstood.

"Why haven't you called me back?" Father Alexander asked, voice becoming calmer. "Why haven't you responded to all the media attention and set it right?"

"What are you accusing me of?" Mike said defensively.

"Nothing Michael. I just want to be sure where you stand."

"I haven't seen any of this stuff you're talking about," he yelled into the phone allowing his frustration to spill over into anger.

"Are you telling me the truth?" the priest asked hopefully.

"Come on, you know me," Mike answered, calming down, beginning to see how this might look back home. "Oh man, Michele, she must be really…"

"Hurt? Yes, she is and confused too especially after your letter." Father Alexander paused for a moment as if letting the conversation sink it. "I'm glad this isn't the case Michael. But how then did this all happen? I mean, why is this continuing to be reported and no one has put a stop to it. Why didn't you even know about all this?"

"I don't know but I plan to find out," Mike assured him. They chatted for a few more minutes, both calming down. Mike then tried to call Michele but she wouldn't pick up and her voice mail was turned off. Hanging up, frustration gave way to a growing rage. Someone had been manipulating the information, using it to build publicity. That could only be one person: Brooker.


	24. Chapter 24 Back to LA

**Chapter 24: Back to LA**

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

Michele pushed through the doors of the hospital like a person desperate to get away. In truth she was. She was a veterinarian, not a combat doctor. The carnage she'd experienced made her sick. Another group of soldiers, this time a company from the Utah National Guard, had walked into an ambush and been decimated. Several hours of trying to help put broken bodies back together and save the wounded took their toll. Coupled with the sickness in her heart she wasn't sure she could take any more of it. It had been three days since her conversation with Father Alexander about Mike. She continued to see reports of him and his ex-wife and how everyone seemed to be pulling for them to get back together.

Everyone except her.

The insecure woman wondered if she were a fool. He she missed something in his letter? Mike had seemed to genuinely want something more with her, a lasting relationship. So if that were the case why was all this going on? Unsure what to do she felt a wave of nausea begin to build up as her head swirled with confusion.

"Michele, are you okay?"

She looked up and into the face of Doctor Guy Chevreau, a civilian surgeon she'd been assisting lately in the hospital. Staring at her with compassion, he brushed some wavy blond strands of hair away from his tanned, handsome face.

"I'm…I'm just tired," she responded, getting lost in his gaze.

"Michele, you've worked so hard and done so much but I'm getting worried about you," the doctor stated, putting a hand gently on her shoulder. "I hate to see one so pretty so torn up, it's just not right," he said trying to sound light.

Michele sucked in her breath suddenly. Was he flirting with her? "It's okay. I'm just trying to do my part."

"We've all lost a lot in this war," Chevreau reflected, "given a lot. I suspect you've given much. Perhaps even too much?"

"We all have," Michele answered weakly. "I've not suffered any more then thousands of others in LA. I'm no one special."

"I would disagree with that," the doctor countered, giving her shoulder a light caress.

He was definitely flirting with her now.

Seeing a confused look in her eyes Chevreau added, "I know many have suffered, it's been a terrible tragedy for us all. But your situation is different I think. Michele, I've heard the talk around the hospital. I've seen the news reports. I can see how this is affecting you and I hate to see it."

"It's nothing," she mumbled back, suddenly embarrassed that her situation seemed to be public knowledge.

"It's not nothing," he refuted, suddenly taking her hand, "you deserve more then that."

"I don't know about that Dr. Chevreau. I think I'm getting what I deserve," she answered without conviction, defenses beginning to crumble.

"Please, call me Guy. Again, I would have to disagree. I'm not certain if you're aware of half what you deserve."

"That's sweet but the scales don't tip in my favor," Michele mused, replaying lost opportunities in her mind.

Chevreau pondered the statement for a moment as Michele felt her heart rate begin to increase. Then with a toothy smile he took both hands, lifted her to her feet and said, "Come, let's begin to balance the scales a bit."

"What do you have in mind?" Michele asked, head swimming and mouth suddenly dry.

"Coffee for starts," he responded with a wink.

**Task Force LA Headquarters, Pasadena California**

"This is the fourth time this week," General Daily shouted, slamming his fist down onto the tactical map table. "Can anyone tell me how this is happening? How is it we keep walking into ambushes?"

"I don't know sir," a major who spoke for the intelligence team sheepishly answered, looking away in embarrassment.

"You're my J-2, it's your job to know," Daily pressed, still angry at the after-action and casualty report he held in his hand. "You damn well need to know because I'm not going to lose more troops senselessly this way."

The officer avoided eye contact and shifted away from the fuming general.

"Fine, you don't know. Listen up people. Drop whatever you're doing," Daily ordered the people in the room that served as the Corp intelligence division. "I need answers but right now I'll settle for ideas. How are the squids able to keep ambushing us?"

The room went silent as nearly thirty people avoided the withering gaze of the aggressive combat officer. Daily didn't speak; he waited with an agitated look. No one spoke. It was an awkward silence.

"No one? None of you here have any ideas of what's going on?" the officer stated in disgust.

"Leave it with us General Daily," the major answered awkwardly, "we'll come up with something I promise.

"And what for now? What about the troops on the line who are getting chewed up because our Intel sucks?" the general countered, neck muscles bulging in frustration

"Sir, I think I may have an answer," a female captain with blunt cut short blonde hair and wearing outdated glasses spoke up.

"General, we've been over this before," the major commanding the unit cut her off. "She's an excited reservist. Like I said, leave it with me, I'll…"

"Quiet you," the general ordered menacingly. "I think I've heard about as much from you as I'd like. So captain," he said, shifting his gaze to the mousy looking woman in uniform, "what were you going to say?"

"This may seem simple general but the answer, I believe, is not that hard. We cracked the alien's signals right?" she confirmed, displaying a confidence her looks didn't warrant. "They've known we can intercept their messages and understand them ever since Senator Sharpe was killed. So it would appear that since then they've been systematically feeding us false information and using it to set us up."

General Daily was stunned by the report. It made sense but how come no one else hadn't figured it out? How come he hadn't? "What's your name captain?" he asked.

"Blatchford sir, Gloria Blatchford."

"And what do you do in the civilian world Ms. Blatchford?"

"I'm an investigative reporter for the Sacramento Bee. It's my job to figure stuff out," she said pointedly looking at the major.

The officer commanding the group reacted defensively. "Come on general. That's crazy. It makes no sense at all. They don't have that capability."

"Just because they're not human it doesn't mean they're stupid," Blatchford shot back. "They're smart enough to figure out space travel."

"That's enough you two," Daily ordered the bickering pair though he was beginning to like the feisty reporter turned int officer. "I assume you have some way of backing up this hypothesis?"

"Do you think I would share it if I couldn't?" she countered, unintimidated by the commander. "Listen sir, I've cross referenced all the ambushes with our intelligence signals right before they happened and all of them match up. They were all set ups."

General Daily smiled broadly. Now they were getting somewhere. He definitely liked her. This one was unafraid, unlike the others in the room. "You don't happen to have any ideas of what to do about this do you captain?"

"As a matter of fact I do, general."

"Come with me Captain Blatchford," he responded with a chuckle, "I think I might have a position on my staff for an investigative reporter."

**Pittsburg, Pennsylvania**

Mike finished his evening speech. He'd stuck to the script though much of it had irked him. He didn't care. He wanted to get on with it. Brooker had avoided him all day, as he had the day before. Today they'd travelled to their new location in separate vehicles. It seemed as if the man from Washington could sense trouble so had been successfully avoiding him.

Mike had tried to speak to him the previous day also but the man had slipped away and not been seen. The newspapers and television talk shows continued to carry speculation about what was happening between him and Amanda. Father Alexander had been right about how things looked and Mike was angry about it. He'd been proud of himself for how he'd handled the temptation yet this was how it all turned out. To make things worse he still couldn't get in touch with Michele.

No, tonight the slick Washington PR man wouldn't be able to avoid him.

"Good job Staff Sergeant," Brooker congratulated Mike, as he left the stage. Already the man though seemed to be preparing to move. He turned his back and started to speak to one of his assistants.

"We need to talk Mr. Brooker," Mike declared, shifting to stay in his line of sight.

"How about tomorrow? I have some people I need to meet in a bit then a conference call after that."

"No, right now," Mike demanded, an edge to his voice that others around them picked up.

"I really don't have the time, I'm very busy," the PR man answered evasively, moving away from the Marine.

"I said now." Mike's hand shot out and grabbed the man by the lapel of his suit. Giving him a shake he demanded, "What's all this crap about Amanda and me? I've seen the papers. And why didn't you tell me Father Alexander has been trying to get in a hold of me?"

Instead of answering the question Brooker tried unsuccessfully to pull away. "Get your hands off of me!" he shouted in growing agitation looking desperately towards is entourage.

One of Brooker's security men stepped in clamping onto Mike's forearm then trying to wrench it away. "Back off Sergeant," the bull-necked Secret Service agent ordered. "The man said to leave him be."

Mike resisted, and the trio began a tug of war for advantage catching the attention of everyone around them.

"Let me go you stupid grunt!" Brooker screamed as the tussle became more intense. Another of Brooker's men grabbed Mike in a half-nelson to try to pull him off the White House officer.

"Hey, there's no need for that," one of Mike's protection detail men, the ex-Marine, called out stepping in himself. "All he wants is some questions answered. Let's all just calm down and talk about this."

"Back off," Brooker's man snarled in reply as he moved to put Mike in a headlock, "this is none of your business."

"It is now," Mike's man replied as he intercepted the other Secret Service agent move and tried to lever him off.

Tension that had been building between the rival groups all tour finally broke. Each lost control, chaos broke out. The security men on both sides waded into the fight and an unseemly melee began. Men in suits began wrestling with each as and punches were thrown.

"Calm down! Everyone calm down!" the senator from Pennsylvania who had hosted the event ordered, striding purposefully over to the group. "This is a disgrace. Gentlemen, get a hold of yourselves."

Hearing the voice and realizing how this looked, the grappling men sheepishly began to disengage.

Mike began to let go of Brooker, but kept his fists cocked, ready to strike. Though desperately he wanted to pummel the man he looked around at the gathering crowd and knew it was wrong. Instead he stepped back and unclenched his hands.

Brooker's security man though took advantage of the break and viciously shoved Mike's ex-Marine agent as they separated causing him to stumble. The attacker smirked in victory until a crushing right fist landed on his nose from the one who had deftly recovered from the stumble and counter-attacked.

"I said that's enough!" the senator barked. "Get a grip on yourselves, all of you." He glared at the secret service agents from the two rival details who were adjusting their suits after the fracas and spat out, "you men should know better. Your job is to protect. How can you do that when you're fighting each other? Grow up!"

The men hung their heads in shame, not meeting the withering look from the politician. Satisfied he'd sorted out that part of the public spectacle he then walked over to Mike. "Staff Sergeant Nantz, what is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"Sir, I'm sorry," Mike apologized to the senator as Brooker glared at him with hatred in his eyes, "but for the last couple of days things have been reported in the press about me and my ex-wife that aren't true. Plus I found out a close friend of mine has been trying to get in touch with me and Mr. Brooker has been blocking it. I've been trying to talk to him about it but he's kept avoiding me. All I want is some answers, sir."

A surprised look replaced the irritated one on the senator's face. "Is this true?" he asked Brooker.

"Well, no, I mean yes…it depends on what part we're referring too. Well, it's complicated and there are some mitigating circumstances you're not aware of senator…," the publicity man stammered.

Mike again wanted to attack the man, his warrior instinct flaring, but instead he restrained himself putting his trust in the senator to settle things.

"Did you or did you not deny this man access to his friend?" the senator, a former circuit court judge, questioned. "And I won't even get into the news reports I've seen because I think I can figure that out."

"Sir, this is not germane to what's going on here. The president has tasked me with generating support for the war effort. I've been doing everything in my power to see that happens under very difficult circumstances. This man," he huffed pointing at Mike, "is impossible to work with. He doesn't follow instructions, is belligerent and likely is causing more harm then good."

"Cut the cock and bull story," the senator retorted, "because I've spent enough time in Washington to know a load of manure when I see it. Staff Sergeant Nantz is a soldier, a damn good one from what I understand, not one of your Beltway prima donnas. He's a genuine hero, not some prissy rock star, so start treating him that way."

"Senator, with all due respect, this is not your area of expertise or your jurisdiction," an exasperated Brooker responded arrogantly.

"Hmm, we'll see," the senator responded with a snort then turned and walked away.

The next day the tour was ended by the White House. Todd Brooker found himself with a new assignment supervising the clipping of newspaper articles in an annex of the White House. It seemed the senator had more expertise then the press officer had realized. Mike finished the last two days of presentations. There was no more talk about him and Amanda in the press. Finished, he prepared to be sent back to LA. He couldn't be happier.


	25. Chapter 25 Subterfuge

**Chapter 25 Subterfuge**

**Task Force LA Command Centre, Rear Area, LA**

General Daily introduced the Reserve captain to the rest of his team as soon as they returned to his headquarters. She'd be an intelligence consultant working with his strategic planning group, he explained. They'd talked little on the ride over, the reporter seeming reserved until asked a direct question. The other members of his team gave the reporter a warm reception and readily accepted her which surprised the woman after her somewhat acrimonious relationship previously. Blatchford thought she'd not only have a chance to finally contribute to war effort but enjoy it as well.

"Okay, so what's your plan?" Daily asked getting down to business.

"Simple. We play a little role reversal," Blatchford responded with confidence, believing she'd be respected. "We use their information against them. Spring an ambush on their ambush. Not only will that protect our troops but it'll get the squids looking over their shoulders." She adjusted her glasses then a hard look came over her face. "We get them on their heels and then slaughter every SOB that comes into the kill zone."

Daily was impressed by the plan but surprised by the ferocity of the meek-looking Army Reserve officer. It appeared the reporter turned intelligence officer had a hard streak to her. "What kind of reporting do you do, captain?" he asked.

"Criminal investigation, sir."

"You like it?"

Yea, I do. I get a chance to expose criminal scumbags for what they are. Of course the liberals scream a lot that I don't understand their circumstances. That's a lot of crap. I know everyone has a story but everyone also has a choice. I write about the bad choices people make."

"I bet you're pretty good at it."

She shrugged her shoulders non-chalantly. "I got a wall full of awards so some would say so. That doesn't really motivate me though." The woman paused for a moment as if processing information or sizing up the general. "And this? This situation is simple. Kill or be killed so we sure as hell better be the ones doing the killing." Seeing she'd made her point, Blatchford began to realize the impact of the chance she'd been given. Thanks for listening to me general. I appreciate it a lot, more then you an imagine. That idiot major wouldn't get his head out of his arse long enough to figure some of this stuff out. If he checked his ego at the door he'd be a pretty good J2."

Daily was amused by the frank, yet accurate, assessment given by the reporter. This one seemed dangerous, exactly what he needed on his staff. "So what motivates you Captain Blatchford?"

"Justice. Seeing the right thing done."

"But this situation seems a bit different," the general pressed, "it seems a bit personal for you."

"It is." For the first time the granite-faced woman bent slightly. Her lip quivered a bit as she spoke, "I lost my only aunt and uncle in the first assault on Santa Monica. They practically raised me when my parents split up. Plus a whole bunch of my friends have gotten killed and the old neighborhood I grew up in as a kid got levelled. It is personal with me general and I'm looking for payback."

"Make sense, captain," General Daily nodded his head in agreement. "We all have strong reasons for wanting to win this fight. I think you're going to be a great addition to my team." The commander turned to one of his aides standing nearby. "Get me Col. Ritchie at 2nd Battalion. I have a new mission for him I think he'll like."

**Somewhere in Pasadena **

The entire 2nd Battalion had mobilized along with several armored squadrons. They'd received information from command about several alien ambushes that were being planned. They were to set up counter-ambushes, so moved into position ahead of time then waited for the aliens to come in themselves. Once set, other units would then move in as bait. Three potential target areas had been set up. The attacking Marines took up their positions the previous night under the cover of darkness and their observers who'd act as fire controllers set in place.

The tech guys had been working to change the frequency and method the Marine's radios broadcast so that the alien's could not only be unable to home in on them but not even pick up the signals. A team of experts, made up of some of the best minds in the country, had been working on it for over a month. An MIT professor thought he had it figured out. This was going to be the first real test, theory entering into practice in real time.

For this scheme to work the humans would not only need clear radio communications but also it had to be undetected by the aliens or things would turn ugly real fast.

Imlay and Lockett lay hidden on the top floor of a heavily damaged building sweeping the area with binoculars. They were on more then overwatch, they were the observers in the ambush area that had been set up. They'd be the ones to bring the rain.

"Man, I hope this isn't a wild goose chase," Lockett thought out loud, trying to chase away the boredom. The sun had come up an hour earlier. The two Marines had spent an uncomfortable night in the hidden position and it was beginning to seem like nothing would happen.

"I know what you mean," Imlay agreed, shifting yet again to try to get comfortable. He felt his shoulder muscles cramping up from laying in the confined space.

"I never thought I'd be doing something like this. I mean Afghanistan makes sense, I signed up for that. But this? It's crazy, like some kind of nightmare. Aliens? That's just nuts," Lockett mused.

"I know what you mean. Its like something out of a movie. I thought the fight might some day come here but not like this. Now we're fighting for America, fighting for our homes and our loved ones," Imlay responded passionately.

"You sound like Lt. Martinez."

"Yea, maybe I do. He was all right, for an officer anyway."

"He was," Lockett agreed. "Gordon's pretty good too. But I wonder how Lt. Martinez's wife's doing? Man, that's got to be tough. I hope she's okay. Its times like this I'm glad I'm single."

"Staffs went to visit her after we got back," Imlay reported. "He had a letter for her from the L.T. Apparently he also made sure through the colonel that she got a new home and was looked after"

"He did that? Wow. I didn't know. The guy just keeps on surprising me."

"I wonder how he's doing."

"Better then us," Lockett snorted.

"I'm not sure about that," Imlay mused reflectively. "He doesn't seem like the guy who'd be into all that attention."

"Yea, probably drives him crazy. Plus there's all that crap about him and his ex in the media."

"You don't think its true? I sure hope not anyway."

"Naw, that's not his style. He's totally old school," Lockett declared. One-woman man and he's sweet on Michele."

Movement to their left caught their eye.

"See that? At eleven o'clock?" Imlay pointed out.

"Yea, looks like a pair of infantry type squids," Lockett answered.

The two aliens moved cautiously into the apartment complex parking lot and looked around carefully.

Imlay thumbed his radio switch. "Two Tangos entering target zone," he reported.

The two Marines held their breath. So far the advancing aliens didn't seem aware the pair had eyes on them.

"Wait out, they're likely scouts," came the response from Lt. Gordon.

The aliens looked around the parking lot strewn with vehicles. They seemed to be sweeping back and forth, casing the place. Apparently satisfied, more aliens entered in, lots of them. The horizon filled with them marching into the area in tight columns.

Imlay picked out not only officer caste by intelligence caste aliens. They'd hit the jackpot. "More Tangos inbound, I'd estimate at least two companies worth."

"Excellent," Gordon replied, the excitement in his voice obvious. "Hold position and prepare to lase target on my order."

A-10's and Apaches were on station waiting for the order to strike. It would be a spectacular show for the pair of observers. 2nd Battalion would then move in and mop up the area.

"All right boys, switch to tactical net now and lase target on their command. We're about to go loud," Gordon ordered.

"Roger that, switching now." Imlay adjusted his radio to tap into the battalion tactical network. "Juggernaught Actual this is Survey 1. We are in positions and preparing to lase Kill Box Alpha on your command."

"Survey 1, this is Juggernaught Actual, confirm, lase target now, Hammer Flight is in-bound ETA two minutes. Hammer Flight, you are weapons free, target will be lased at Kill Box Alpha."

The aliens continued to march steadily forward, now with the bulk in the parking lot unaware of the destruction that was about to rain down upon them. The sound of roaring jet engines and the furious _chop-chop _of accelerating helicopters caught them by surprise. The aliens froze, not expecting this development, uncertain what to do.

They waited too long.

Knowing exactly where to hit because they'd be laser-targetted in, four A-10 Thunderbolts seemed to pop above the trees and swooped in on the unmoving column.

They open fired with their 30mm Avenger gatling guns. The large depleted uranium slugs tore up everything in their wake, cutting huge swaths in the tightly packed alien ranks. To add insult to injury, each plane loosed two AGM-65 Maverick missiles that slammed in right behind creating a cauldron of fire in their wake.

The remaining aliens tried to scramble for cover as the planes winged up and around for another pass but six Apache gunships rose up from different positions to box them in then add their own destruction to the menu. Using their full inventory of weapons to deadly results, cars flew in the air from the force of explosions, crushing aliens, concrete and asphalt richocheted around filling the air with destructive shrapnel.

The Apaches pulled back just as the A-10's came in for another pass. Ordinance expended, they peeled off and another flight of four took its place. All the while, the Apaches would pop in and out, stinging like a swarm of angry wasps. It was an altogether vicious and effective attack. The co-ordinated dance of destruction would go on and on until none moved or even stood.

On the ground, the display of deadly firepower was horrifically spectacular. Explosions filled the sky and the ground shook. The aliens had been caught totally flatfooted and were being ground up in the fury. Watching the incredible spectacle as if from ringside, Lockett and Imlay almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

Father Alexander had a spring in his step as he walked towards the hospital complex. He'd received word from Mike that he'd be back in the area the next day. The situation in the media had seemed to die down and the fickle group had moved on to another novelty story, this time a story about a quaterback named Tebow. The priest continued to find it ironic that professional sports continued despite everything going on in America. The NFL, NHL and now even the NBA, who'd finished their strike and resumed play, were carrying on like nothing was going on. Of course all the leagues were doing it without teams from Los Angeles and the other cities under siege but still, they carried on. Sure there were heated arguments on boths side. Some contended that to play showed a disrespect for the loss of life and continued threat, trivializing the suffering going on versus another that countered to carry on showed resolve, showed the American spirit could not be beaten, that a return to normalcy was the best way to deal with the horror of war. Sports became a distraction and that, and the economic reality of the games, carried the day.

God works in mysterious ways.

The priest contemplated the thought as he walked down the now paved road towards the growing structure. He remembered when the temporary encampment had been built. A small infirmary had given way to a larger hospital and already a third wing was being built. The main road had been paved and others would be shortly.

Was this a return to normalcy or a concession to reality? How soon would they be able to return home and what would that look like? There was coping with reality but then there was settling for something that would suck the spirit away. Which was this? He thought back to the aftermath of 9-11 and how people had returned to 'normal', as if nothing had happened so very quickly. Churches had filled with people looking for God and then emptied just as quickly. Would this be the same? Would the people miss this opportunity to learn and grow, to self-examine, or would the balm of entertainment and consumption distract them again? _I've certainly become a philosopher, _the priest thought to himself.

Today he had good news for Michele so all the thoughts that swirled through his head were pushed out.

Entering the hospital, Father Alexander found out she was on a break and had gone to a newly-built coffee shop nearby. This seemed odd to him since she tended to eat outside and alone. He put the thought out of his mind and walked over to it. Arriving at the busy establishment he had to push his way in since a large crowd had gathered there to enjoy what it had to offer. He scanned the crowd looking for Michele happy for the chance to bring good news for a change.

The smile fell off his face like a brick when he saw her. The woman sat at a table, engrossed in conversation with a man he recognized as a doctor from the hospital. The thing that got him though was the handsome surgeon held her hand stroking it lightly and she let him. His pulse quickened. He didn't know what to do. Saying a quick prayer he knew he had to deliver his message. The rest was in God's hands.

Walking purposefully over to their table the priest saw that Michele noticed him. Turning slightly red the woman avoided his gaze, pulling her hand away.

As the priest reached the table Michele stammered, "Father Alexander, I didn't expect to see you."

"No I suspect you didn't," he responded coldly. He paused and took a breath, trying to control his rising anger. "I wanted you to know that Michael will be back on base tomorrow. His tour is over and he'd like to speak to you. There's been some misunderstandings," he looked at the pair who sat close together, side by side, "it seems about a number of things. Anyway, I wanted you to know."

The priest turned and walked away, surprised at the strength of his emotions towards the scene and wanting nothing more then to get away.

"Father Alexander wait, please!" Michele called out but he'd already disappeared in the crowded coffee. She tried to get up but Dr. Chevreau grabbed her hand anew.

"Let him go," he instructed her, "why spoil a pleasant time?"

**Somewhere in Pasadena **

The 2nd Battalion Marines and their armor support charged into the wake of destruction, mopping up the stunned aliens. The opportunity for payback after several weeks of struggle drove the soldiers on and the results were decisive. The aliens were routed completely with heavy casualties. The humans suffered a few men wounded and only one killed. Unfortunately that one was the new sergeant in Lt. Gordon's platoon. He'd been killed accidentally when a building damaged in the attack collapsed on him. Soon people would begin to whisper that the platoon sergeant's role in that particular group was jinxed, others would say it was cursed. But that didn't impact this day as the soldiers celebrated their total victory. Confidence in headquarters had been re-established.


	26. Chapter 26 Things have changed

**Chapter 26 Things have changed**

**Task Force LA Command Centre, Rear Area, LA**

A cheer went up around the operations control group as another report came in of the successes of the human forces. Personnel huddled around radios and computer consoles picking up information then eagerly transferring it to a large white board and map in the center of the room.

General Daily beamed at the latest update then spontaneously pounded Captain Blatchford on the back. Caught off guard the slender woman was almost knocked over. "Now that's how it's done!" the commander celebrated, buoyed by the trend becoming evident.

Based on the reports coming in, two of the three kills boxes set up had worked perfectly with the near total destruction of the alien forces engaged. Better still, there had been only minor casualties among the infantry while one Black Hawk helicopter had crash landed due to a mechanical failure on their part. The third ambush had been only a partial success since the trap had been sprung prematurely allowing the aliens to pull back with only light casualties.

Another update came in leading to more cheering among the soldiers who were supposed to be focused on their tasks. Their commander wouldn't chide them though since he himself applauded along. It had been a long time since they'd had something to cheer about.

"So what now, captain?" Daily asked a smile lighting up his face. "What do you see in your crystal ball?"

"No crystal ball sir," Blatchford answered without emotion, "just good information and discernment. Search and destroy in kill boxes one and two, advance to contact on the third," the Reserve intelligence officer suggested evenly. "We've got them by the short hairs so lets not let them get away."

"Consolidate quickly then push on," Daily nodded his head in agreement. "I see you're more then a reporter but also a student of tactics Captain Blatchford."

She shrugged her shoulders and adjusted her glasses. "I like to read plus it's the logical thing to do."

Daily snorted in amusement at the no-nonsense reporter. He'd need to remind himself to read what she'd wrote once this was all over. The imposing general caught himself for a moment. For the first time since this war began he thought about what things would be like after. In his heart he'd never believed they'd survive, not after the initial shock of the unexpected invasion and ferocity of their foe. Now he began to feel like they not only could win but would win.

An optimistic attitude, a sense of destiny, drives success.

"Well, ma'am, however you come up with it, you make sense and I'm glad you're on my team," General Daily responded with genuine admiration. Turning to address the rest of his staff in the room he called out, "All right everyone listen up. New assignment. Our main battle group engaged is to press forward and harass the enemy. In Kill Box 3 I want them to re-engage and regain momentum. I'm taking the 160th and 223rd infantry regiments along with the 221st Armored Cavalry out of reserve to bolster the attacking force. Let's find their main body people and bring the fight to them."

"Sir, are you sure that's wise?" a staff officer questioned hesitantly. "That's a major troop commitment. It's pretty risky."

"Son, we've got the enemy on the run and a chance to break out. We need to let the dog run free," the General replied with a grin, looking at Captain Blatchford who cheekily winked at him in return. "No more half measures, we're pushing the ball into the red zone."

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

As the Gulfstream jet prepared for its final descent into the Los Angeles military command area Mike finally looked at the newspaper he'd been given when he got on. He'd spent most of the trip thinking. Thinking about what he'd do next. He had no orders so would report in and see where things took him.

He thought about Hector and wondered how the boy was doing. He wondered about his guys, Imlay, Lockett, Doc. He wondered how Harris was doing and if Santos would see the front again. But mostly he thought about Michele. He'd really be asleep at the switch with the whole thing about Amanda. What must she have thought? He shook his head and silently cursed his stupidity at letting it go as long as he did and not emphatically stating his feelings for the woman he shared more then combat with. But then he was reminded there had been a push there too. He hoped that idiot Brooker suffered for it.

Too many thoughts.

Opening the paper he saw an analysis of the global war effort. It was easy to forget that not only was America at war but attacks had been going on around the world. Maybe the radical Muslims would have something else to hate and try to blow up rather then the US, Mike mused. It appeared the attack on New York City and the eastern seaboard had been contained which meant troops could be shifted to other theatres of operation. A report was given that many would be sent south to Brazil since their forces had collapsed entirely and Rio de Janeiro had been overrun. Already an invasion force was forming to counter.

England continued to fair well and the resolve of the English people still existed showing, as they had in World War 2, that any who sought to conquer needed to be ready to pay the cost. The aliens had been pushed from London and were being chased across the channel. Already UK forces were coming to the aid of France who had struggled badly with aliens who stubbornly held Paris and great tracts of land leading to the ocean.

Alien water harvesters had been busy pulling water along the coast so English fighter-bombers had been active seeking to eliminate that threat.

Japan and China continued to co-operate, setting aside their historic differences to counter the serious threat that existed in the Pacific Rim. Other then LA the forces that hit these two Asian countries were likely the largest. They'd fought the aliens to a standstill and were now pushing back. An unconfirmed report was that Chinese forces had used short-range tactical nuclear weapons as part of their counter-attack to break the alien's momentum. The government had been quiet on the issue as had the UN. All hoped there would be a future to address such an action.

Perhaps the most interesting story had happened in Russia. Despite their size the former Soviet power had shown at the start of the war that their equipment had been poorly maintained and morale among their military low. At the early stages of the invasion in August the aliens had swept them aside and seemed unstoppable.

Large water harvesting facilities had been set up at their invasion point in the Arctic Sea as the aliens pressed towards Moscow. But as Napoleon and Hitler had found in the past, the harsh weather in the north and the resolve of the Russian people was strong and on the outskirts of the city a fierce fight had been put up.

Now with assistance from Germany and some of their former Soviet allies including Poland and most notably Georgia, they too were pushing back.

Perhaps even more surprisingly, after an initial reluctance to assist, many of the Muslim nations of the Middle East had decided to join the fight. First stamping out the radical terrorist cells in their own nations, proving as many believed that it could be done, a number came to the world's assistance with oil, finances and even some troops finally seeing the need for global co-operation.

World War 3 had come as many had speculated it would but the key protagonist had been one none expected. Yet despite the devastation some good things were happening. Former rivals were setting aside animosity for the collective good, nations were working together and a thought began that if they could defeat this common foe the world would be changed in a way only a year earlier none could have imagined.

Something the UN had never been able to do was a distinct possibility. War, which often forges nations, could now possibly do the same for the whole world.

Mike closed the paper and put it on his lap. "That would sure be an incredible thing if some good came out of all this crap," he said to himself. But they needed to win in order for this to happen he reminded himself. _What was it Father Alexander always says? God works in mysterious ways._

The 'fasten seatbelt' sign came on and an efficient stewardess dressed in an Air Force uniform made sure it was enforced. Mike looked out the window as the airfield came into view. It seemed to be a hive of activity with troops marching towards Sea King helicopters and supplies being unloaded from trucks and onto cargo helicopters. All around there appeared to be preparations for some major operation. Something must be up. Even from the air, Mike could feel a buzz of excitement.

Father Alexander watched the C-11 Gulfstream 2 bank then drop its landing gear preparing for final approach. The sleek passenger jet landed on the recently constructed paved landing strip in the rear area. A charged atmosphere cascaded throughout the staging area as soldiers and materials prepared to be moved to the front. CH53E Super Stallion heavy lift helicopters were taking off in support of the new offensive underway while a convoy of MK-28 MTVR transport trucks drove away from the base.

The priest didn't share the excitement, unsure what to tell Mike when they met. _Lord guide me in this,_ he prayed.

The ramp of the plane dropped and after letting a few officers get off first Mike emerged. Blinking with the shock of the bright sunlight his eyes adjusted and he saw a familiar sight. Father Alexander. He walked over to the priest and vigorously shook his hand.

"It's good to see you Michael," Father Alexander greeted.

"It's good to be back," Mike agreed. "Hard to believe but I missed all this. It looks like lots going on," he observed.

"A new offensive is apparently underway. But yes, a lots been going on to be sure," the priest replied a bit hesitantly.

Mike grimaced, believing he knew what the man referred to. "Yea, I can imagine. Listen, thanks again for looking after things here. I appreciate you giving me the head's up about what was happening. That whole tour was weird, totally surreal. It was like nothing was going on in the rest of the country. Anyway, I know I have some things to make right."

Father Alexander still wasn't sure how to reply. For the first time the articulate minister was at a loss for words.

"I don't have new orders yet so I'm in limbo," Mike continued, missing the awkward silence. "I thought I'd go see Michele."

"Michael, I'm not sure that's such a good idea right now."

"I know I have some explaining to do but I'm sure we can sort it out," Mike answered, ready to push forward. "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately and I think its time to settle down."

"Wait, you should think about it," Father Alexander cautioned.

Mike's concentration was broken by the sight of a Marine corporal he knew driving by in a Humvee. "Hey, Schmidty," he called out waving the vehicle to a stop.

The pair greeted each other then Mike asked, "Can you give me a lift to the civie town?"

Jumping in, before the vehicle left Mike called back, "Sorry to cut you off like that Father Alexander. I know you were trying to tell me something but I need to grab this chance. When I get back lets have a coffee and get caught up."

The priest froze, the words still forming on his lips but it was too late. In anguish for his friend and how he'd not warned him, he sunk to a knee doing the only thing he could think of at the time. He prayed.

Mike got dropped off near the hospital. He thought he'd find her there since it was still early in the day. He was so excited to see Michele again butterflies fluttered about in his stomach. Mike felt like he was back in high school about to go on a big date. He remembered borrowing Grandpappy's car, cleaning and shining it before going to get the girl of his dreams. The stuff with Amanda had been bound to cause some concern with Michele but he was confident he could explain and get things back on track. He loved her and he believed she loved him. That was all that mattered. Spotting a desert flower growing on the side of the path he plucked it spontaneously and took it to give to her.

Happily pushing through the front doors he entered in and took a quick look around. He was again surprised at how the facility had grown over the past several months. It was a big change from when he'd been there as a patient. Seeing a nurse he knew to have become a friend of Michele's lately he went over to find out where she was, the flower clutched in his hand.

"Hi Kelly!" he greeted her enthusiastically. "Is Michele around?"

"Uhm, hi Mike," she returned the greeting, avoiding his look. "No, she's not here right now."

"Any idea when she'll be back?"

"Sorry, I'm not sure of that either," the nurse answered evasively.

"No troubles," Mike replied lightly, missing the nurse's discomfort, "I've got someone else I need to see. I'll be back in a bit. If she does show up, let her know I'll be back and would like to see her."

Mike turned around and walked out, a spring in his stride, missing the pained look on Kelly's face.

Rather then try to find a ride into the residential area he decided to walk. It was a warm fall day, the sun shone and it felt good to stretch his legs after the plane ride and weeks of inactivity on the speaking circuit. It gave him a chance to think some more about how surreal things were turning out. Six months earlier, still haunted by the ghosts of Afghanistan, he was ready to retire with no plan or sense of purpose in his life. Now not only had he been awarded a yet unreceived Congressional Medal of Honor, he was in all the way. The ghosts had been exorcised; he'd made amends with Lockett's brother and met the woman of his dreams.

Life was good!

Rounding the corner to come onto Hector's street he thought back to how things had gone the last time they were together. He needed to make things right with the boy and help him see a future too. He'd had some thoughts about that he wanted to share. _One step at a time_, he reminded himself.

It took only one knock on the plywood door for it to be opened. Hector came out of the darkness into the light of the day. Mike involuntarily took a step back in shock at the sight of how poorly the boy looked. He'd lost weight but the alarming thing was the boy's once lively eyes had a dull sheen to them.

Then Hector perked up at seeing the Marine standing before him. "Staff Sergeant, you came back!" he cried, stepping forward to bury his head into Mike's chest in a big hug. "I was afraid you'd forgotten."

"I'd never forget you sport," Mike responded, returning the embrace and finding his voice choking. "How could I forget you? Its just I've been on the front lines for a bit then I got sent away for a while."

"Yea, I saw some of that on the TV," the boy responded, face clouding.

Mike rubbed the cleft in his chin absently, trying to figure out what was going on. "Listen, the last time I was here things didn't go so well and I think you may have misunderstood me."

Mike's explanation was interrupted as the door to the home opened and Hector's stern-faced aunt came out.

"Hector, que estas haciendo?" she asked in an irritated tone.

"I'm not doing anything Aunt Rincon," the boy answered tightly. Then he perked up and spoke like he was making a point. "Look, Staff Sergeant Nantz is back. I told you he would be."

The Latino woman glared at the Marine. "I can see that. You appear well sergeant. Bueno." Standing her ground she declared, "You must excuse Hector, he has work to do and does not have time to speak right now."

The boy looked down at his feet, face forlorn.

Mike opened his mouth to speak but the woman cut him off.

"Perhaps you can come back another time for a visit but not today. Come Hector, rapido." Taking him by the arm the forceful woman led him away.

Anger welled up in Mike. He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth, but knew there was nothing he could do. Not yet anyway.

Mike lost the spring in his step as he returned to the hospital. Hector's situation and the deterioration of the boy caused not only concern but remorse in him_. I should have done more for him,_ the Marine chided himself_. I should have tried to help him more so he wouldn't have to be in that crappy situation._

By the time Mike arrived his spirit was quite heavy. He perked up with the hope Michele was back and could make things right with her. Retrieving the purple flower he intended to give her he walked back into the hospital with a sense of anticipation.

Looking around it became quickly obvious she wasn't there. "Hey Kelly," Mike greeted the nurse without the same spark in his voice as a result. "I guess Michele hasn't come back yet?"

"No," she replied with the same awkwardness as before. "No she hasn't. I'm…I'm sorry."

Mike caught the tone this time. "Do you know when she'll be back or even where she went?" he asked with a note of desperation. "I'd really like to see her."

"No…no I can't help you. I'm really sorry," Kelly lied awkwardly, her heart breaking for the torn man.

"I know where she went," another nurse, a dark haired woman named Libby offered, joining the conversation.

"Really? That's great. Where is she?" Mike asked with a note of renewed hope.

Despite a stern warning look from Kelly, Libby answered the inquiry. "She went away for the day into the desert with Dr. Chevreau."

"What?" Mike exclaimed, recoiling in shock. "What do you mean, they're away for the day?"

"Yea, they're out on a date I think."

The words hit Mike like an anvil on the head. He had to get out of there. He stumbled away despite the call from Kelly and missed the smirk on Libby's face, a woman who had once been intimate with the doctor and now sought a measure of revenge.

As the door to the hospital banged closed behind the hurt Marine Kelly found on the floor the single flower he'd dropped during his flight to get away.


	27. Chapter 27 Reactions

**Chapter 27 – Reactions**

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

What was that all about?" Kelly angrily demanded.

"What do you mean?" Libby responded coyly.

"You know exactly what I mean."

"I told the truth," the nurse shot back. "And why's it such a big deal to you?"

"And did it need to be said at all? And in that way? " an irritated Kelly answered. "You know Michele and Mike have feelings for each other but have been struggling because of stuff. How is that going to help Libby?"

"Well maybe Michele should have thought about that before she went out with Guy," Libby rebutted.

"Yea, okay. That might be," Kelly agreed reluctantly. "But you didn't need to say it and in that way."

"He had a right to know, Libby countered. Then a grin crept onto her face. "Besides, the guy's a hero and pretty cute too. He deserves better."

"You?"

The nurse batted her eyes but didn't say anything.

Kelly grunted in frustration then shoved the unrepentant woman out of the way and ran from the hospital to try to find Mike, to try to explain to him.

But it was already too late.

Eyes filling with tears Mike stumbled down the steps of the hospital and into the road almost getting hit by truck.

A horn blew as the driver angrily yelled out, "Hey, watch what you're doing. I could have killed you."

"Sorry, my fault," Mike mumbled apologetically, trying to clear his eyes.

"Staff Sergeant Nantz?" the Marine private driving the car asked, recognizing the now well-known soldier. "Are you okay?"

"Yea, fine. Listen son, can you give me a lift back to the base."

"That would be awesome. Hop in," the Marine answered, excited at a chance to meet the legendary figure.

Though the pair chatted about the war during the short trip Mike's responses were automatic and without feeling. His time on the speaking tour had given him the ability to talk and respond on auto-pilot. While the young Marine chattered on, excited by the chance to connect with the seasoned soldier Mike sat and stewed about what had just happened. He felt like he'd just stepped on an IED. Worse, that he'd been ambushed. Hurt and confusion gave way to growing anger. By the time they'd reached the base rage had taken over.

He wanted action.

Thanking his young driver Mike surveyed the hectic scene around him as troops and equipment continued to prepare to leave the staging area for the front. Seeing a group of Marines from another company of the 2-5 prepping to move to the front waiting near dozens of transport helicopters starting to spool up he desperately looked to see if anyone was familiar. Mike's keen eyes recognized one of the officers as someone he knew from his time in Afghanistan. He trotted over.

"Captain Winters, sir." He called out saluting as the man turned to face him.

"Hey, Staff Sergeant Nantz! Long time no see," the lean officer replied warmly. "I didn't think you'd be back with us again after your celebrity tour."

"I'm back where I belong sir," Mike declared.

"Who-rah!"

"Are you going out?" Mike asked eagerly. "Because I'm looking for a fight"

"That's the spirit, no rest for the wicked huh?" Captain Winters replied warmly. "Yes, we are. Got some squids on the run so command's reinforcing the attack. This may be the breakout we've been looking for."

"Mind if I hitch along? I could use the exercise."

"Sure thing," Winter's answered eagerly. "If you're unattached right now I could really use another good senior NCO. Grab some gear and meet me in that chopper," he pointed out.

Ten minutes later Mike sat in the helicopter, going back into battle, looking desperately to shift his simmering rage onto something else.

Michele couldn't stop grinning. Maybe it was the bottle of wine she'd drunk with Dr. Chevreau, Guy, she reminded herself, or maybe it was the happiness of release. Regardless, she felt light, like some school girl. They'd walked, sat, talked. Just simple stuff. There could have been more, that was made very clear by Guy. Maybe next time.

Now they were back at the home she shared and it was time to part ways.

"I had a great time today Michele, you're a remarkable woman," the handsome doctor gushed.

"Thanks Dr…Guy. You're not so bad yourself."

Then, without saying anything, he swooped in, took her in his arms and kissed her hard.

She let him, responding in kind, beginning to lose herself in the embrace. Her arms found the back of his head and she went deeper.

"A-hem."

The doctor leapt back like he'd been shocked by electricity. Michele stood fixed in place, head swimming.

Kelly. Michele's friend stood in the doorway with a cross look on her face.

**Staging area, USMC Forward Line of Advance, Highland Park, LA**

"You're going to be working with Sergeant Lipton in 4th Platoon," Captain Winter's yelled over the roar of the helicopter engine as it took off after dropping the men at the forward staging area. "He's a replacement with no combat experience. Most of the company is green. They're reservists called up from other parts of the country to backfill the unit. Bring him up to speed Staff Sergeant, fast. I can't afford any on the job training."

"Understood sir," Mike answered, looking over at the NCO who seemed to be extremely tense. The sound of small arms and machine gun fire could be heard in the distance punctuated by the occasional boom of an explosion. Mike watched a group of soldiers flinch involuntarily, looking around with almost wild eyes. It seems he was in the right place though he might have gotten more then he'd bargained for.

Captain Winters called his officers and NCOs in for a quick briefing. "All right, we're going straight into the fight on foot. It's about a two klick hump to the front. Staff Sergeant Nantz has joined us for this mission and he'll be working with Sergeant Lipton. We're lucky to have him with us. Watch and learn from him because he's done this before and lived to tell." The commander's eyes narrowed giving his face a hard look. "All right, stay sharp, the area's not secure yet so there could still be squids around. Get your troops squared away and ready for the shit to fly right out of the gate. Questions?"

There were none.

All right, let's get it done. Retreat…"

"Hell."

The response was less then enthusiastic.

The leaders returned to their groups and prepared to move out an almost heavy spirit of impending doom hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

"Would you care to explain that to me?" Kelly demanded from Michele.

"That, it was nothing," she replied unconvincingly.

Doctor Chevreau had left suddenly at Kelly's announcement, avoiding eye contact and scurrying away leaving the fuming nurse alone to confront her friend.

"Nothing, huh?" Kelly snorted. "You know, Mike was at the hospital this morning looking for you."

"He was?" Michele responded in surprise then turned sullen. "So what if he did?"

"So what?" Kelly exploded. "You love him. You've told me that how many times? You've cried about it. So don't try to blow it off like its no big deal." The woman calmed down. "I don't get it. You say you love him yet you're running around with Doctor Chevreau. I've seen the two of you together the last few days so I can see where this is heading. Everyone can. What's up with that?"

"Yea? Well he's running around with his gorgeous ex-wife all over the news," Michele spat back.

Now it was in the open.

"I see," Kelly answered evenly. "I saw that too and I know it has to be upsetting but you should talk to him Michele, find out what really went on. You know you can't believe everything you see in the press," she reasoned.

"I know what I saw," Michele shot back petulantly. "Don't talk to me like you everything. You don't know me."

"Wow," Kelly recoiled. "I guess you're right. Maybe I don't know you after all."

"I think I can run my own life Kelly," Michele yelled. "Okay, I said those things, I said I loved him. But it takes two to be in love."

"Yes it does," the nurse agreed coldly, but not the way Michele had meant it. "You're right. It's your life to live. But don't string Mike along, he doesn't deserve it." She turned and began to walk away then stopped and returned.

"Oh, he brought you this." Kelly handed him the desert flower Mike had dropped in the hospital when he'd left then quickly strode away.

Holding the delicate purple flower in her hand Michele stood stunned for a moment. "Kelly, wait! Don't go," she called after the woman but she was already gone.

**Staging area, USMC Forward Line of Advance, Highland Park, LA**

Mike went over to the NCO he'd be working with right away. It was time to see what he'd be working with. Lipton didn't seem older then 20 and his face looked a little green.

"Mike Nantz," Mike introduced himself, extending his hand.

"Charlie Lipton, sir," the sergeant responded nervously.

Mike looked at the E-5 and could see he was barely holding onto his fear. This was a dangerous situation for the men in the platoon especially since they were heading into a fluid combat situation. He needed to do something and quick.

"Listen, I'm not a sir. Just call me Mike okay? Are you ready to go?" he probed, starting the conversation rolling to where he knew it needed to go.

"Sure thing. Let's get it done. I can't wait," Lipton answered, trying to appear like a warrior.

"Are you sure?" Mike responded. "I mean I know you're new in theatre and this is your first time going out. It's totally natural to be nervous and unsure so don't sweat it if you are. But once we get into it your training will take over and you'll get the job done."

"Really?"

"Yea, really," Mike reassured the young NCO, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

Can I ask you a question Staff Sergeant?" Lipton asked, his eyes darting around to see if anyone else could hear their conversation.

"Shoot."

"What's it like out there?"

"Scary. It's a surreal, terrifying experience every time I go into combat," Mike answered honestly.

"You? You get scared?" Lipton responded in disbelief. "I can't believe it. You've won a CMH. Come on."

"Sure. Every time I go out."

"No way. I can't believe that," the young sergeant replied, still seeming skeptical of what he was being told.

"Why? Because I've won a medal?" Mike shot back. "Because I'm still alive? Listen, I'm no different then you Charlie I've just got more time in. The only people who go into combat and aren't scared are the liars and the nut bars. And I don't want to fight with either. This may sound like some line from a bad movie but it's true. Fear keeps you from doing stupid, reckless things. This is no movie and it ain't no video game. There's no room for Rambo's or Master Chiefs in real combat because they don't value life. That gets people killed. The key is to move beyond your fear, to use the energy you get from it to do things you're not able to on your own."

"I'm afraid I'm going to screw up, get my guys killed," Lipton confessed, getting to the heart of his anxiety.

"That's good. "You should be scared of that," Mike agreed with a grin seeing the surprised reaction to his response. "It means it matters and you're not going to go and do some stupid John Wayne stuff with your men. They're your responsibility so you should care. Just don't care so much that you're afraid to do anything with them. That does more harm then good."

"Okay, makes sense," Lipton said with a gulp.

Mike moved in close and looked the young NCO square in the eyes. "Charlie, you're a Marine. Every one of us had to go into combat for the first time. The Corp isn't about to let you go unprepared and unequipped. Captain Winters has confidence and I have confidence in you. You'll be all right. You ready?"

"Yea," Lipton said, without his previous feigned swagger. "Yea, let's do this."

"Good. Just stick to your training, watch your corners and go with your first instinct. The rest is in God's hands."

The young sergeant thought about what he'd been told for a moment and Mike could see the pressure seem to come off the soldier's shoulders. Now he was ready for combat.

"Thanks, I appreciate that," Lipton said with a smile. Already he looked better.

"All right Sergeant now go lead your platoon," Mike encouraged.

Winters barked out some orders and with a sensible screen of flankers the company began to move forward at a quick pace.

Were they ready? They'd find out within the end of the hour.


	28. Chapter 28 Useful

**Chapter28- Useful**

The sounds of pitched battle intensified as they got closer so Mike watched Lipton carefully to see how he would react. The talk must have worked because the formerly nervous Marine Reservist had a calm confidence about him, edgy for sure, but the right mix.

_I'm so glad to be back where I'm needed and I know what I'm doing_, Mike thought to himself. The incident with Michele had rocked his confidence and coming so close on the heels of what had happened on his tour that did nothing to assist the growing resignation he felt. At least here he had things figured out.

In only a matter of minutes it seemed they'd arrived at the action. Captain Winters halted and the Marines immediately went into a defensive position. All around were the signs of battle. Several soldiers lay dead on either side of the street but a lot more aliens littered their path of retreat. A few small fires still burned while scorched earth, destroyed vehicles and splintered trees marked a spot where pitched battle had occurred. A casualty collection point had been set up off to the side under the cover of trees to keep the wounded out of the sun.

Mike could swear he saw Doc Adukwu among those treating the soldiers in need but didn't have time to look closer since Captain Winters signalled for his officers and NCOs to gather after returning from receiving orders from a major who seemed to be marshalling the newly arriving troops.

"Ok, listen up," Winters ordered getting everyone's attention. A huge orange fireball leapt into the air followed by an ear-splitting explosion less then two blocks away. "It looks like we're in time and didn't miss the fight," he grinned wickedly trying to relieve the tension among his nervous leaders. "We're beginning to envelope the squids so we're going to keep pushing them all the way to Lincoln Heights. Our job is to hook right with the Pasadena Freeway on our left flank, got it? We're going to follow Griffin Ave all the way down so check your maps. Our objective is Hazard Park," he pointed out, "then we hit them on the left flank and push them all the way past the San Bernadino Freeway. The situations kind of fluid since this is a running fight so we need to be strapped in once we step off here, understand? So we're going to go diamond formation. 1st platoon, you have point, 2 in rear, 3 and 4 go left and right." Cocking his M4A1 carbine he declared. "All right, now let's get it done Marines."

The military was still in process of recalibrating all the radios and hadn't finished yet so they would be doing things old-school, with hand signals and verbal commands so as to not give their position away to the aliens who still seemed to be monitoring the old frequencies.

Finding their line of advance the company pushed forward, tension high, as they waited to engage the enemy. Mike gave Lipton a wink and nod of his head and the young NCO nodded stoically in return.

As the sound of gunfire increased the pace seemed to involuntarily slow as the lead group moved from North Griffin to Griffin Ave drawing nearer to battle so becoming more timid.

Not a good start.

Captain Winters trotted over to Mike's position at the rear of the platoon where he'd placed himself. "Staff Sergeant, get up to 1st platoon and get them to push the pace. We can't let this happen. Their platoon commander is a good man but he's got no experience with this. Walk him through it. These guys need to get bloody or they're going to end up dead."

"Understood sir. Bring 'em to the fight." Mike snapped to attention, every nerve now firing with adrenaline. For all intents and purposes, he would be leading the fight.

Mike quickly explained the switch to Lipton and his platoon commander. He gave the young sergeant a reassuring pat on the back then ran off.

He didn't need to run to overtake the lead platoon; he could have made it with a swift walk.

Moving slow as molasses the Marines were advancing timidly along the quiet street. Though gunfire could be heard to their left all was eerily quiet. There had been some fighting in the area since several buildings burned throwing plumes of smoke into the air and obscuring vision to the front. A young 2nd Lieutenant who didn't look like he shaved yet and an equally young platoon sergeant were in charge.

"Hi guys," Mike greeted them trying to set the edgy pair at ease. "Captain Winters asked me to move up and bolster your numbers a bit," he fibbed, not wanting to discourage the men about to get their first taste of combat.

"Good to have you with us Staff Sergeant," the junior officer acknowledged. "Any suggestions?" the man asked, showing wisdom at bringing the seasoned veteran into the situation.

"I think we might want to shake it out and pick up the pace. Also, I'd break the platoon up a bit, use the trees for cover. Slow moving and bunched up troops are a pretty inviting target. Let's not give the squids something to grab a hold of."

"Sounds good," the 2nd Lieutenant acknowledged with a look of relief. It seemed evident right off that he was happy to have Mike helping them out. "Let's get it done."

The tightly packed column loosened up and began to move from cover to cover while still more then doubling their pace. Now they at least looked like Marines heading to combat.

Moments later the sentiment was put to the test. The men on point missed alien defensive emplacements as they neared Hazard Park due to the smoke and anxiety. Machine gun and grenade fire erupted from the place and several Marines were hit. The ground churned up around the soldiers who dove for cover. While three men went down seriously wounded in the initial fusillade the adjustment made only minutes earlier had saved at least half the platoon.

Marines looked for cover and returned fire haphazardly with own their weapons. The SAW gunner burned through a whole box of ammo in less then a minute going full auto and not taking his finger off the trigger of the M249.

"Get up!" Mike screamed at the prone men ducking and weaving as he moved, "Get up! You're sitting ducks." He kicked one in the rear end and grabbed another by the yoke of his tactical vest. "You're going to get killed if you don't move. Come on, you've got to get moving, the whole company is jammed up behind you."

Mike's encouragement and the whoosh of an AT4 rocket going past them to slam into one of the alien defensive positions seemed to shake the men to action. With Mike in the lead, firing and moving, one by one the rest of the men in the platoon got up and got engaged in the growing battle. There was decent cover and the aliens hadn't set up good lines of sight to fire since this was likely a hasty defence so the Marines were able to get in close and hammer the recoiling enemy. By the time they'd reached a group of parked cars on the edge of the park the SAW gunner had settled down and began a steady rate of fire into the alien position keeping them pinned down.

Pointing to three Marines, one who was bleeding from a shrapnel wound, he ordered, "Okay, on my signal, you're going to chuck grenades into that main group holding the center of the line." Then looking at the rest with him he continued, "When they go off we beat feet left and hook around getting them with flanking fire. Once they bug out we leap frog forward and roll them back. All right, grenades, now!"

The three stood up and threw in unison. One got hit in the shoulder which spun him around but not before he threw his grenade. In short succession the three went off causing the ground to boil around the main concentration of aliens.

"Now, let's go 2-5!" Mike stood up and began to run, fanning his free arm to signal the others to join him. He let off a burst from his carbine at an alien who turned to meet them, drilling it perfectly in the center of the chest. The creature went down with a high pitched chirping sound.

_I guess I haven't lost my touch,_ Mike thought to himself as he dropped another with a three round burst who had been furiously trying to discharge a salvo of grenades from its wrist launcher. But most impressive to Mike was that he had six other young Marines running and cursing with him but most importantly firing their M16s with cool precision.

The main alien position was quickly overrun allowing the charging Marines to fire into several others groups trying to get engaged. The break in their line caused a collapse in the defensive position and so with squealing chirps several officer caste aliens seemed to signal a withdrawal. They began to fall back chaotically away from the charging Marines right into the rest of the company.

Captain Winters had correctly figured out the thrust of Mike's quick attack so had adjusted the remnant of the company to maximize the distraction he'd conveniently been presented. Winters set his troops out in a line supported by two M240B GPMGs while the company mortar team had already embedded their tube and was ready to fire. So as the aliens came across their field of fire he grinned wickedly at the gift he'd been given.

"Open fire!"

The whole line erupted in flames as lethal red hot metal slammed into the group trying to escape stopping them short. Several mortar rounds dropped in quick succession just behind them forcing them to come even closer to the deadly line. Caught between the two they paused only adding to the carnage.

Mike saw what the captain had set up so halted the men from the platoon with him and got them set up to fire into their flank. He had an idea what the efficient tactician would do.

Less then five minutes later he was proven correct.

Like a door closing, the Marine company began to push forward sweeping the aliens in their wake forward right into Mike's fire base. Tracer rounds flitted through the air like angry fireflies others hummed like agitated wasps. The rattle of gunfire became deafening and everywhere it was concentrated aliens soldiers fell by the dozens. After a span of only about ten minutes the din of war began to die down. Not one alien stood.

Smoking corpses lay stacked up on top of each other like cut cord wood. The sounds began to die down as the soldiers tensely waited to see if there would be a counterattack. None came. They seemed to have broken the backbone of alien resistance.

"Great job guys!" Mike congratulated the gathered Marines who grinned goofily in return, the stress of their first combat experience flowing out of them. He stood up and looked around at the gathered Marines, some who were bleeding from minor wounds and liked what he saw. These were now Marines ready for combat.

"Movement, left flank!" an alert private who was watching the perimeter yelled out urgently.

"All right guys, defensive position," the 2Lt barked out decisively, "we're going to hold this line and nothings getting through."

Mike was impressed with how the young officer took charge. _These guys are in good hands _he thought to himself as he scanned the line to make sure everyone was ready to meet the new threat.

The sound of movement through the haze of smoke was evident to all now. The soldiers braced for the assault to come, hoping they could hold this critical position. A few adjusted their optical sights to try to get a sharper picture as they looked intently at the buildings that provided cover outside the park.

"Friendlies! Friendlies coming in!"

"Check fire!" Mike yelled out as a group of Marines started appearing out of the fog. "Those are Marines coming in."

More and more soldiers started to emerge. While most stayed in the area others began to probe through. They'd met their objective. They'd not only captured the park but held it.

"Good job guys!" a couple Marines called out as they passed the now beaming rookies.

"Who-rah! 2-5" others joined the chorus of praise as they looked around at the carnage of battle that had happened moments earlier.

Though grinning himself, Mike allowed himself a small smile and measure of pride in the men around him. But he also continued to automatically scan all around. This was still a hostile area and threats existed. He did catch Captain Winters meeting with several officers. The older officer caught Mike's eye and gave him a wink and nod of approval. Mike allowed himself a sigh of happiness.

"Staff Sergeant Nantz, what in the hell are you doing here?"

Mike turned to face the familiar voice and now grinned as he saw Corporal Imlay coming into sight.

"Hey Staffs, what's up?" Lockett added, a look of surprise on their faces.

"Hi guys, good to see you."

"Good to see us?" Imlay mocked, an incredulous look on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is why are you here and in combat?" Imlay declared.

"I got back from my tour earlier this morning and hooked up with these guys coming in," Mike answered honestly.

Lockett shook his head in disbelief. "Man, you are something Staffs."

"I'm just trying to be useful, that's all," Mike tried to explain.

"Okay, if you say so," Imlay responded, still looking amused. "It's good to see you back. Hey, I need to ask you something…about the stuff in the press..." he asked awkwardly.

"It was a load of crap," Mike responded instantly, knowing where the young man was going.

Imlay smiled in relief. "Glad to hear it. That's what I thought but I wanted to ask. What are you up to now?"

"I'm not sure," Mike responded, happy to move onto to something else. "I want to be back in the action, that's for sure. Any word on Harris?"

"Yea, he's good. He's doing some physio now but wants back into action. He may get cleared in a couple of weeks," Lockett reported happily.

"If it lasts that long!" Imlay added optimistically.

"That's awesome! I'm glad to hear that." Mike relaxed for a moment, happy to be around people he'd shared much with and could trust. Then he spotted another familiar figure moving with a group of Marines.

"Lt. Gordon, good to see you."

The handsome African American officer stopped in disbelief, as the others had at the sight. "Staff Sergeant Nantz? Well you're a sight for sore eyes. I'm glad you're back in theatre."

"I'm glad to be back sir."

"So are you posted to G company?" Gordon asked, as if he had something on his mind.

"Naw, I just tucked in with them for this fight," Mike answered.

Gordon seemed relieved. "Well, if you're looking for a home, I could sure use you in the platoon if you're interested. I know the guys would like you back and so would I."

"I'm not sure what the colonel has in mind for me but it would be great to be back with you guys if I could," Mike answered enthusiastically_. Useful. I'm finally useful again_, he thought to himself happily.

"Well that would be great. Lockett, Imlay, we need to get moving and get into our new position," Gordon ordered the other men.

The trio said their goodbyes and the others headed off with their company. Mike only then noticed they didn't seem to have a platoon sergeant.

Captain Winters called out for him to join him as he returned to the leaders of the company to give his report. "Here's the deal. We're going to bivouac here tonight and hold this area. We don't think the squids will return but they may regroup and try to push us back. So we'll have max security up all night. But the rest we'll use the abandoned homes to rest in. Command is bringing up more troops and armour overnight. In the morning we'll begin to push again. They want to exploit this opportunity and try to break the alien's line. So keep your guys sharp but get them fed and rested because tomorrow we'll be right in the thick of it."

The officer turned as if to walk away then paused and looked back affectionately at the men. "All of you did good today, real good. I'm proud of you," his face beamed. "The men did awesome too. I'm proud of all of you. So look after your platoons and get some rest. We'll have an O group at 0530. That's all."

Mike spent the remainder of time before it got dark backstopping the lieutenants and platoon sergeants as they set up their hasty defences. Fields of fire for the machine guns were laid out and all would interlock nicely. The company mortar detachment had a good position to cover. Claymore mines and a few traps were laid out and fire team positions established. He was impressed by how quickly the troops adapted and the resolve of the group that earlier in the day had seemed so shaky. Satisfied all was well he allowed himself to begin to feel the fatigue of the day so decided to join one of the sections in a home that had been commandeered.

Entering the home he was immediately greeted by the young Marines billeting there and invited to join them. Two of them selflessly handed Mike parts of their MRE's since he hadn't stocked up himself. Enjoying the simple meal he felt better then in some of the gourmet restaurants he'd dined in during his tour. He was with people who were honest and shared the same values, people who would give their lives for him because he wore the same uniform and he'd gladly do the same. Finishing food that had never tasted more delicious he sat back on his rucksack, put his hands behind his head, closed his eyes and listened to the excited banter going back and forth. He was content being among those he loved. He was home.

**The Pentagon, Washington DC**

"Sir, you may want to take a look at this," the female Army captain reported to her team leader.

"What is it Gail?" the Public Affairs colonel she spoke to responded, rubbing his receding hairline.

Deep in the recesses of the US military headquarters reports were regularly flooding into the analysis section then routinely being disseminated for press briefings and releases. But one in particular had been flagged for further attention because of a familiar name that had popped up.

"After action report coming out of the Los Angeles Theatre of Operations," she answered a look of concern on her face. "These are yesterday's battle captures. They've just come in from the field this morning. It seems they have some sort of offensive going on."

"So? We knew they were looking to do something like that and it's already been reported up the chain. Is there a problem?"

"Take a look at this," she encouraged him, thrusting a printout of one of them under his nose. "Look at the fourth paragraph dealing with the Hazard Park actions," she pointed out. "Recognize that name?"

The colonel absently looked at the copy of the report that had been sent out in the morning dispatches, a daily intelligence account dealing with what was happening in the field. He suddenly perked up as he looked where her manicured nail pointed. "Holy crap. It can't be. He's on a speaking tour."

"It is. I confirmed its accuracy already. The tour was cancelled prematurely and he was shipped back to LA."

"Well how did he get back to the front?" the colonel in charge of processing raw information coming from the various fronts and turning it into new releases for the press demanded.

"It doesn't say, just that he's mentioned in dispatches by his company commander for helping them in a tough spot," the project manager in charge of overseeing the processing of the data answered.

"Great," the officer rubbed his temples in exasperation. "So this idiot goes back into combat. What if he goes and gets himself killed before he gets his medal? How is that going to play in the press?" The officer bit his fingernail as he pondered the situation. "This can't happen. We have to do something about this. Corporal," he yelled to one of his orderlies, "Get me the general on the phone. I think he's with the Joint Chiefs right now but tell him this is urgent. Then find out who the theatre commander is in LA. We need to have a little chat with him."

**LA Theatre of Operations Command Centre, somewhere in Los Angeles**

"No, I have to confess I wasn't aware of this. Yes, I understand the significance of what you're saying," General Daily replied clenching the telephone receiver hard, trying to keep his obvious disgust in check, "No. No sir, it's not a problem…Yes sir, I'll take care of it personally when we get done with this conversation….Very well. I'll report back to you directly when it's done."

The powerfully built African American officer slammed the phone down so hard the others in the room involuntarily started at the sound.

"What is it sir?" Daily's aide asked, knowing it wasn't good.

"That was the Pentagon. Someone in Washington got their knickers in a knot reading an after-action report from yesterday that Staff Sergeant Nantz is actually acting like a Marine again. Apparently that's gotten some generals nervous up there. I guess they don't want to see the guy get killed before he gets his medal. I suppose the other guys dying don't really matter since they're not in the paper. I've been ordered to see he's reassigned to the rear area."

"Nantz isn't going to like it," the officer commented cautiously. "Neither are the troops."

"No he's not but it's not his choice. I've got to pull him," Daily fumed. "When he's back we'll figure out what to do with this. He's likely out with 2nd battalion. Just find the guy and get him off the line this morning."

**Somewhere in Pasadena, LA theatre of operations**

The morning had gone well so far. The company had moved off just after first light. The lead platoon had come across an alien patrol. This time the Marines had reacted instinctively and automatically, dropping the half dozen infantry caste troops before they could organize. Mike had been right there helping, encouraging the platoon sergeant. He was so proud of him, like a father watching his son pass his driver's test. Now they were preparing to move into an alien concentration that had formed to stop them. Adrenaline already coursing, Mike couldn't remember when he felt this alive.

"Staff Sergeant Nantz," a young private called out breathlessly as he ran up to the now advancing lead party, "Captain Winters needs you back with the command group right away."

"Okay, I'll be right back once we've moved into position," Mike confirmed, not really paying attention.

"He said right now, and it was an order."

"Right now? We're about to go into a fight," Mike questioned testily.

"Right now," the Marine answered nervously. "He made that point really clear."

Mike bit his lip, angry at the order but knew there was nothing he could do about it. The inexperienced platoon commander looked at him imploringly for guidance. "Keep them moving sir. Don't slow down and don't let any gaps with the other units happen. I'll be right back when I find out what's going on."

Mike swore quietly to himself at having to leave just when things were starting to get rolling. He trotted behind the private as they wove their way through oncoming troop's frustration starting to grow. Finally making it to not only the rear of the company but rear of the battalion advance he found himself amongst the supply people prepping material for the advancing Marines. He saw Captain Winters standing with a Major he didn't recognize and several other junior officers so he jogged over to them, throwing up a quick salute.

"Staff Sergeant Nantz, come with us," the major ordered, speaking for the group. "You're coming off the line so get in the truck," he pointed to the idling Humvee they stood in front of.

"What's going on sir?" Mike looked imploringly at Captain Winters, not sure what was happening but instinctively knowing it wasn't good. "We're about to head into some action. The troops need me."

"I'm not sure Staff Sergeant but it's out of my hands. This comes straight from General Daily. Listen, I need to get back to my guys," Winters said awkwardly, obviously not happy with the situation. "We wouldn't have survived yesterday without you out there. Thanks."

The Marine captain walked off with a small security detail and his signaller to rejoin his unit as Mike stood there, mouth slightly open, reeling from what he'd just been told. Just when he finally felt he belonged again, the carpet was being pulled out from underneath him again.

"Come on Staff Sergeant. I know this can't be easy but it is what it is. Time to go," the major told him, trying to sound empathetic but instead sounding glib.

This couldn't be happening, it was a nightmare.


	29. Chapter 29 Alternatives

**Chapter 29-Alternatives**

"No way. There's no way you're taking me out of an operational role," Mike raised his voice.

"That's not in your control Staff Sergeant," General Daily responded testily as LCol. Ritchie looked away, not liking where the conversation was going. Despite the general's sympathy he didn't appreciate the NCO's attitude.

Mike had remained silent during the two hour ride from the front to the operational headquarters. At first he'd been confused by what was going on but anger had slowly crept back in as he began to see what might be going on. This was not a reassignment he realized before arriving, they were taking him out of the fight.

_No, this can't be happening. They'd not let this happen. It must be some mistake_, Mike thought to himself, trying to rally his spirits. They'd get it all sorted out.

When he arrived and had been taken in to see General Daily his heart began to sink. He'd brusquely demanded to see LCol Ritchie, who still was his battalion commander. The exchange between Mike and the officers had not gone well. He been told he would not be allowed back into combat, the risk of his death too high.

"Please, sir, don't do this to me," Mike implored his voice dropping. Suddenly feeling very tired, he fought hard to keep his eyes from tearing up. "I need this, more then you can ever know."

Daily sighed heavily, his irritation at the man melting away. His heart was heavy. He couldn't give the man what he desperately wanted. "It's outside my control son," the general finally admitted, dropping the pretense of command. "I don't like it any more then you do but we all report to someone. I have my orders and so do you. You're being transferred effective immediately from 2nd battalion to Area Headquarters. We'll give you a couple of days to adjust then we'll find something useful for you to do."

Mike stood stunned at the finality of the order. His shoulders began to heave and he felt himself getting choked up, unable to hold his emotions in check.

"Sir, there has to be another way," LCol Ritchie finally ventured to speak, unable to stomach what was happening before his eyes anymore. "Can't we…"

"There isn't colonel," Daily snapped back. He felt impotent and that made him angry. "We all have our orders, including you. Just get it done."

"Yes sir," Ritchie responded coldly. He snapped off a salute then stormed out of the office.

The die cast, Mike numbly followed suit, saluting and robotically walking out of the office into the warm fall sunlight, his heart cold as winter in Alaska.

"Damn," Daily said to himself as he stood alone feeling incredibly frustrated.

Mike returned to his battalion area, not knowing what else to do or where to go. The familiarity gave some comfort but the events of the past couple of days felt like a roller coaster ride at Magic Mountain. The thing with Michele still didn't sit right with him. _What was she doing out on a date?_ He mused. She'd probably heard about the stuff with Amanda, it was all over the press, but he thought that all would have been cleared up. _Could she have given up? Found some other guy?_ he pondered to himself. It didn't make sense. That was bad enough, then to finally be of some use after nearly two months away from the front on his tour and to be pulled off because he was more valuable as a figure head then a soldier made him sick. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair.

"Hello Michael."

Father Alexander came and sat down beside him. The priest seemed hesitant, not his normal optimistic self. He sat, saying nothing and avoiding eye contact. Something wasn't right.

"I've been pulled from combat," Mike declared without emotion, beginning to feel numbed by everything going on. It was too much, overwhelming him like quick sand.

"I heard. That's why I wanted to find you," Father Alexander replied. "I wanted to see if you were okay."

No, I'm not, but I'll get over it," Mike confessed bitterly. Then he saw an opportunity to perhaps have some questions answered. "Listen, what's up with Michele? I went to see her and she was gone for the day on some date I was told. Do you know anything about this?" he demanded.

"I didn't know, but I did have my suspicions," the priest confessed awkwardly.

"What do you mean you suspected something?" Mike demanded.

"Well, I saw…no, I sensed…I mean, I….I just suspected things weren't right," the usually confident priest stammered, confused and upset himself.

"And you didn't think to tell me?" Mike exploded. "I walked in blind! Don't you think it might have helped to tell me something was up?" he raged.

"I…Michael. I just, I just didn't know what to say…didn't want to believe it," Father Alexander tried to explain, miserable at the whole situation.

"That's just perfect. This is all just unbelievable. I thought things were bad on the tour," Mike declared sarcastically. "First Michele, then the military and now you."

"That's not fair Michael. It's not like that," Father Alexander tried to defend himself.

"Isn't it? I thought you had my back," Mike responded coldly, his words cutting like a knife. He turned and stormed away.

"Michael, wait…please, wait," Father Alexander implored.

"Leave me alone!"

Father Alexander's head slumped as tears rolled down his cheeks. He felt ashamed and helpless. He did the only thing he knew to do: he prayed.

Mike stumbled through the rest of the day, hurt, confused and angry. All he'd tried to do was his best, serve his country, honor his commitments and everything seemed to be falling apart around him.

_ How can this be?_ he raged at God. _Why is this happening?_

He heard only silence in reply. Then, almost mocking him, he caught snatches of conversations of people he passed, they who were oblivious to the misery he felt, going about their lives. As if coming out of a stupor he realized dusk was beginning to descend and he'd wandered aimlessly into the civilian area. He needed a respite, something to ease the pain, to dull the senses. He found it in a neon sign across the street.

Nightclub.

He walked into the dimly lit establishment and heard pop music pounding out of the sound system. The place was bigger then it looked outside, fanning out into a triangle. A long bar was on the left with tables scattered around the right. At the back a dance floor sat waiting for people to get lost in the music. Being early in the evening few people were in the place, better for Mike who wanted to be alone. He slid over to the bar and sat down on one of the pleather covered stools.

A male bartender wearing a white collarless dress shirt and earrings in both ears approached him. "What can I get for you sir?" he asked politely.

"Sir," Mike snorted, "I'm no sir. I'm just a grunt who follows orders."

"Okay," the civilian answered slowly, taking a half step back, not sure what he'd just walked into. "What would you like?"

"A lot of things…a lot of things," Mike reflected. Seeing the confused look on the twenty-something bartender he shook his head and answered, "Get me a Bud." Then he paused. "No wait, give me a Jack Daniels and make it a double."

Hours later and more JD then he could count, Mike was finally beginning to feel mellow. The music had gotten louder as the place had begun to fill up. The dance floor was packed with people gyrating their bodies, as if urgently trying to take themselves some place else. Mike smiled goofily, the alcohol dulling his senses, mission accomplished.

"You're Staff Sergeant Mike Nantz, aren't you?" a female voice purred from beside him.

Mike turned awkwardly, not entirely in control of his faculties to look square into the painted face of an attractive dark haired woman holding a drink seductively in her hand. She sat on the stool beside him. No, she was perched on it instead, a long leg dangling along the high slit in the tight dress she wore, accentuated by black stiletto high heel shoes. The mid-20's woman's dark eyes drank him in and he, in turn, began to lose himself in the fragrant aroma of her perfume. He sat and stared at her for a long moment, his brain unable to process what was happening.

"You are him, right?" the woman asked again, a smile erupting on her face.

Finally his brain computed. "Yes, yes I am."

"Wow, this is amazing. My name's Libby. You probably don't remember me, but I work at the military hospital as a nurse. I was there one time when you came in wounded. I've read all about the things you've done. You really are a hero, thank you for all your sacrifices," she gushed.

"Thanks. It's no big deal. I'm just doing what any of the guys would." He liked the fact that someone seemed to appreciate him for a change.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, changing the subject. "I thought you'd be..."

"On the front? Yea, I should be," he responded bitterly. "It would take hours to explain. I wouldn't want to bore you with the details."

"I've got all night," she answered, looking deep into his eyes. She put her hand on his forearm and left it there. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Mike smiled, enjoying the seductive woman's touch. Something in the recesses of his brain shouted warning, like an alarm going off, but he mentally turned that switch off.

The pair sat and talked and drank for longer then Mike could recollect. He didn't want to remember. He didn't care instead wanting to live the moment. Everyone had let him down: Michele, the Marines, Father Alexander, it was time to get lost so he sat with this woman who hung on his every word seeming to get closer with every sentence. Head swirling he unburdened himself as Libby continued to stare at him, captivating him like some Medusa.

Mike next found himself on the dance floor with Libby. Though the song was fast the pair were intertwined in a slow dance as others hedonistically gyrated around the couple. She had her leg wrapped around and in between his to draw him in tighter. Their arms were around each other and her head was buried in his chest. His head was dropped into her sweet smelling hair which was more intoxicating then the drinks he'd had.

Mike could feel her hot breath on his chest and sensed himself stirring within his manhood. She looked up at him, longing in her eyes, her arms pulled him tighter, she began to reach up, her lips parted slightly, moist with anticipation, breath shallow, longing. Mike, involuntarily began to lower his head, he closed his eyes, surrendering. He held her tighter as well, feeling her body tighten and press against his. He was prepared to lose himself in this oasis. The moment of contact was inches away.

"Staff Sergeant Nantz? Hey Staffs!"

The voice broke the hypnosis. He involuntarily pulled back though Libby still clung to him. He looked towards the voice and saw to his surprise it had come from Cpl. Harris who was dancing nearby with his fiancée Cherise. The pair moved closer so Harris could talk to them.

"What are you doing here?" Harris asked in shock as he looked at Mike and the situation he was in. Then, looking closer he got a better sense of his condition. "Are you okay?"

"He's just fine," Libby snapped back, glaring darts at the couple.

Mike's head began to swim as the alcohol seemed to take over. He swayed and almost fell to the floor, breaking out of the clinch. "Hey, Harris, man…when did you get here? Man, its good to see you out of hospital," he slurred.

"Come on, let us take you back to the base," Harris declared, getting a confirming nod from Cherise who looked hard at Libby.

"I know you," she stated to the glaring woman. "You're a nurse at the hospital."

"Whatever," Libby shot back testily. "Listen, we were having fun so why don't you go back to whatever it is you were doing and leave us alone?"

"I don't think so," Harris answered, stepping between the pair. "I think its time for him to get back to the base."

"Well I don't," Libby shot back belligerently. "Who do you think you are?"

"A friend who's watching his six," Harris replied, standing his ground. The turning to Mike he declared, "Let's go Staffs. Time to go."

"No...I'm okay…having fun…," Mike slurred, but not resisting, finding the room starting to spin.

Harris and Cherise took the now slumping Mike and began to lead him from the dance floor. Libby intercepted them and grabbed Mike. Kissing him on the lips she whispered in his ear, "We're not done yet, call me okay?" She slipped a piece of paper in his pocket, allowing her hand to linger.

"Come on Staffs," Harris ignored Libby, encouraging Mike as he tried to stop. "Time for bed."

The following morning Michele entered the hospital, desperately searching for Kelly. She had successfully avoided Dr. Chevreau the previous day, spending it instead thinking. She wanted to talk to her friend, if the nurse would still talk to her. The things she said still burned in her mind. Michele had begun to look at things differently and maybe she had been mistaken about Mike. Guy was on her mind. Though handsome there was something about him that didn't sit right. Maybe it was guilt. She needed to talk, to sort things out before she made another mistake. Rounding a corner in the corridor she saw the familiar outline of the woman.

"Kelly, can I talk to you?" Michele asked hesitantly.

"Good morning Michele," the nurse responded coldly.

"Kelly, I'm sorry about what I said to you the other day. I was confused and angry," Michele confessed. "You were only trying to help. Can you forgive me?"

The woman paused for a moment, as if seeking out the sincerity of the comment. Seemingly satisfied, she smiled and replied, "Of course I do. And I need to apologize as well. It's easy to make pronouncements when it's not your life. I should have been a bit more understanding."

The pair hugged.

"So what is going on with you?" Kelly asked pointedly.

"I don't know," Michele confessed. "I'm so confused."

"Have your feelings for Mike changed?"

"Well no. I'm not sure. When he left I was sure but then all that stuff in the papers came up and then Guy has been so sweet," Michele answered. "But you tell me Mike came to see me and he even brought a flower, then all that other stuff. I just don't know."

"You should talk to him," Kelly counseled. "At least hear what he has to say. I think you owe it to him and yourself. And besides, Guy has a bit of a reputation."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's not really my place to say…," the nurse answered hesitantly, thinking she'd overstepped her boundaries.

"Kelly, please. This is very important."

"He has a rep as a bit of a ladies man."

Michele could feel her heart rise into her throat. "Really?"

"Come on. You never heard?"

"No, I've been kind of isolated from a lot of that stuff. I just haven't paid attention." Michele thought back to how their relationship had built and some things started to make sense. "Have I been a fool, Libby?" she wondered, pausing to think for a moment. Then burying her face in her hands she cried out, "What must Mike think?"

"I don't know, he seemed pretty upset. But love conquers all. You guys can work through it, I'm sure of it," Libby encouraged her.

"I have to talk to him, right away. There's been too much lack of communication lately. I'll talk to him today." Her bright face suddenly clouded.

"What is it?"

"I…I don't know where to find him."

"I'm sure…" Kelly's response was cut off by the sound of a loud female voice coming from around a corner in the corridor.

"The guy is totally all man. 100% grade A. Like oh my god, when we were dancing, it was like electricity. I was totally lit up."

Raucous laughter greeted the comment.

"And it was really him?" another voice questioned. "It was really Mike Nantz?"

Michele and Kelly froze as they heard the question.

"Yea, for sure. I think I'd know the guy. I mean his picture is everywhere," the voice replied that each of the women realized belonged to the nurse named Libby.

"And he was hot?" another female voice asked with anticipation.

"Totally. I mean smokin' hot," Libby replied enthusiastically.

"What's he like?" still another joined in.

"Amazing. The guy is such a dream. We talked for a long time and then…well…you know," Libby answered demurely.

Michele felt like she was going to be sick. She looked to run away, to get out of the place. But before she could leave Libby and her entourage rounded the corner and ran right into the pair.

Libby gave them a predatory smile, realizing they'd likely heard the previous conversation. "Oh hi Michele," the nurse spoke familiarly not using her title of doctor. "I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you'd be…well, busy." The dark haired woman made to continue walking on but stopped instead and smirked. "No offense, but you've got pretty bad taste, passing up Mike for Guy."

"What do you mean?" Michele choked, the casualness of how she said 'Mike' causing her heart to race.

"I guess I shouldn't say that. I guess I should thank you for dumping him so he could see there are others out there who would appreciate him more."

"She didn't dump him," Kelly retorted, stepping in.

"Really? Then why is she making out with Dr. Chevreau and why is he in a club drinking alone?"

"I didn't…I haven't," Michele stammered, face turning red at the realization others knew about her embrace with Guy. "Mike and I are…"

"Finished? That's how I see it and that's how he's taken it," Libby declared confidently. "But don't worry, he wasn't alone for long."

Michele's face dropped, the words and meaning sinking in. Had her actions driven him away? Was it true that he'd moved on?

Libby's cell phone went off. Delicately taking it from her pocket she looked at the screen. "Well isn't this a pleasant surprise? I think that's him right now."


	30. Chapter 30 Holding Pattern

**Chapter 30 – Holding Pattern**

Before Mike opened his eyes he felt it-the relentless hammering on his skull of someone beating him with a ball peen hammer. Steeling himself for the next inevitability, he opened his eyes and yelped as they adjusted to the light of day.

"Oh man," he groaned in pain.

Eyes adjusting Mike blearily saw an attractive African American woman with an amused look on her face watching him from across a coffee table. "Kevin," she called out, "the dead have returned to the living."

"Who…who are you?" Mike groaned. Then it struck him. "Wait, I know you. You're Harris' fiancée.

"Right you are," she answered perkily which made him groan again.

"Hey Staffs," Cpl Harris greeted him, coming into what appeared to be a living room. "How you feelin'?"

Mike groaned and closed his eyes as the hammering shifted to a big bass drum banging in his head.

Cherise snorted. "Serves you right for going and getting all liquored up last night."

"Baby, come on. Have a heart," Harris implored her to which she snorted and laughed.

"Is there anything I can do to make this go away?" Mike pleaded in misery. It had been years, likely since he'd been a buck private that he'd gotten drunk like that. It was not a familiar memory and the pain in his head caused a degree of panic.

"Yea, it's called 'don't drink so much'." An imploring look from her fiancée caused the woman to relent. "All right, I'll go and get him something."

Harris and Mike sat in silence for a moment then the young corporal finally spoke. "So what are you doing here Staff Sergeant?"

"I don't know. You tell me. I don't remember much about last night. How did I get here?"

"No, no. I don't mean here as in Cherise's place. We brought you back. I mean what are you doing back in LA? We saw you at the club and I couldn't believe it was you."

"Long story," Mike groaned again, trying not to remember.

Cherise returned with a glass of water and two extra strength Tylenols plus a glass of V8 juice.

Mike choked them all down then sat quietly for a while as the two went about their morning business.

About an hour later Cpl. Harris checked in on Mike. "Feeling any better?"

"Yea, a bit. Thanks for looking after me."

"No problem. I don't want to pry but is everything okay?"

"I don't know Harris," Mike answered honestly. "I keep trying to do the right thing and yet it seems I keep rolling donuts. I just don't get it."

The young Marine wanted to press the man but knew better, allowing him to get his equilibrium back. "Want to try something to eat?"

Mike sat with the young couple, feeling awkward and out of place though appreciative for their kindness towards him. Drinking black coffee and chewing on some dry toast he began to feel better though his head still pounded. The reflective man saw it as fitting punishment for his foolishness. After some small talk an awkward silence fell over the trio.

"So what are you doing off base?" Mike asked, desperate to chase the demons beginning to haunt him again away.

"I'm on medical leave as I rehabilitate," Harris replied. "With facilities all messed up the docs thought it would be easier this way."

Cherise beamed.

"Plus it has some fringe benefits," the young man smiled in return. "But another couple of weeks and I'll be cleared for action. I want back in the fight."

Mike noticed, surprisingly, Cherise's countenance didn't change. "I'm glad you guys found each other after everything and have had this time to reconnect," he reflected quietly.

"We're thankful to the Good Lord for looking after us. I'm lucky to have such a good woman behind me," Harris agreed.

Mike nodded in agreement but the pain of his own situation stabbed him worse then the hangover.

"What about you? I thought you had a woman?" Cherise inquired pointedly.

Mike choked on a piece of toast, then answered. "What do you mean?"

"Cherise, come on," Harris implored.

"No Kevin, I'm serious. I mean the one you were all over last night wasn't her," the woman answered testily. "What's up?"

Then it came back to him. Libby…their time together. "I don't know. She seems to have found someone else." Mike felt his chest tighten. "I don't know. Everything is all screwed up."

"And what was last night?" the woman pressed.

"I'm not sure," he answered honestly.

Cherise opened her mouth to continue on but a look from her fiancée caused her to hold her tongue.

The conversation was awkward after that. Mike wanted to leave as quickly as he could, not wanting to have to think through another thing. So within the hour he was preparing to leave.

"Do you want a ride back to base?"

"No, the walk will do me good. It'll help clear my head. Hey, thanks again for looking after me," Mike thanked him humbly.

"Listen, if you love your woman you have to fight for her." Cherise shrugged off the glare from her fiancée to continue speaking on the subject. "If you're done fine but don't just let it drift away. True love takes work. We know that first hand. You're a bit of a celebrity so you won't have any troubles finding women if that's what you're in to but I don't think that's who you are. If you've got troubles, work them out, but don't give up so easy."

Mike pondered the thought for a moment then slowly shook his head in agreement. "Thanks…for everything. See you around."

The troubled man left, his mind conflicted. Though still addled from the night before that wasn't what had him troubled. The chain reaction that led to the incident was stronger in his mind. The stuff with the military, with the tour, he could discount that. It was politics and he was a soldier. He understood that combination. He'd been in Iraq and he'd been in Afghanistan. He understood how those far from combat made decisions. But all roads kept coming back to Michele. That was within his control. He had a choice here-to give into the fear and anger building over how things seemed to be turning out or do something.

Then thoughts of last night flashed through his mind, some things came clearer to mind and he found himself pleasantly distracted.

He fished the piece of folded piece of paper out of his pocket. On it was written the name 'Libby' with a heart around it and phone number. He remembered some more. Mike turned the piece of paper around in his hand. He thought about what Cherise had said about other women and began to realize that perhaps he did have other options. The sensations of the previous night and the joy of simple, uncomplicated conversation gave him something to think about. He looked at the name and number again then neatly refolded it and safely tucked it back into his pocket.

Returning to base he went to the guest billet he'd stored his gear before wandering off the day before. It felt like a week since he'd been back, so much had gone on. Showering then shaving, Mike pressed his uniform then walked over to headquarters. Though General Daily had told him they'd figure things out in a couple of days he wanted to move forward. Also, he had a suspicion that his situation had already been determined for him and command was only giving him some time to get on the same page.

He was correct in his assumption.

Moving past the guards at the entrance he entered the bustling command area, talk of the offensive continued to swirl around the busy office as people moved about to support the initiative. Mike presented himself at the orderly desk and the female corporal manning it recognized him right away. It seemed in a way that she'd been expecting him.

An Army major, who Mike recognized as one of General Daily's aides, came out of the throng of people to greet him. "Staff Sergeant Nantz, good to see you. I'm Major Hoyle." The tall, barrel-chested officer shook his hand with an iron grip. "I know the general told you yesterday to take your time but I get the sense you're ready to get down to business?"

"Yes sir, I am," Mike replied with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "I'm ready to be useful."

"Outstanding!" Major Hoyle responded. "First off, I have some good news for you. I'm happy to report that your exemplary service during this campaign has been recognized and so your promotion to Gunnery Sergeant has been confirmed. Congratulations Gunny."

_Boy, they must be giving me a crappy job if they need to promote me to sweeten the deal_, Mike thought sarcastically. "Thank you sir, I appreciate the confidence I've been shown," Mike answered to the beaming officer.

"All right, now let's get down to business. I know you want back in combat, I can sympathize with you. I really can," Hoyle stated honestly.

For the first time Mike looked at the man's pressed uniform and saw the purple ribbon along with several campaign awards. _So this guy's not only seen combat but been wounded too. Okay, I'll hear him out._

"Just because you can't be in the fight doesn't mean you can't be useful. You have as much experience fighting the squids as probably any NCO in theatre so we want to put that experience to good use. So, we're assigning you to the training unit. Your job is going to be prepping newly arrived senior NCO's and getting them ready to lead out of the gate. You showed you could handle that recently so it's a good fit."

"Makes sense sir," Mike answered hollowly. He knew it was coming but to hear the finality rubbed him the wrong way. He really was being taken out of the fight.

Hoyle could sense the unease but he had his orders. "Okay then, report when you're ready to . Wingate in building 3. Good luck Gunny."

The pair shook hands and parted. Mike went outside and found where building 3 was located on the base. Instead of entering in he walked away from the structure and the people bustling about, found a quiet place and pulled out the cell phone he'd retrieved from his gear. Fishing the folded piece of paper he'd transferred out his jeans, he dialed the number.

"Hello?" Libby answered expectantly.

"Hi, this is Mike Nantz."

"Hi Mike! I was wondering when you'd call," Libby responded, looking at the gathered women, Michele in particular.

"Sure. Listen, I want to apologize for last night in case I did anything stupid. I was pretty drunk and I'm not sure what I said or did."

"You were amazing," she gushed. "I can't wait to see you again."

Michele grimaced as Libby beamed.

"What?" responded, a bit confused. "Okay, maybe. Let me think about it. I have some stuff to sort out and we can go from there. But I did want to thank you for listening to me. I've…I've been going through some stuff and it was good to have someone to talk to."

"Okay, until then. And no, it was my pleasure, really," she responded.

"Well I have to run. I'll be in touch, good bye." And he hung up.

Libby looked at the others. "All right. Well you keep being awesome and we'll see you then. Bye."

The nurse delicately put her phone away then looked at the collective group who seemed to be holding their breath. Raising one eye brow she said coyly, "What?"

The ones with her burst into excited chatter, wanting to know the details of the conversation which she feigned to not want to share. They began to move away without saying anything to Kelly and Michele though Libby did give a knowing smirk to Michele before they disappeared.

Face reddening and teary eyed Michele didn't know what to do.

"Michele. Don't read too much into that. You know how Libby is. She probably tracked him down," Kelly tried to reason.

Michele could hardly breathe. She'd determined to talk to Mike, clear the air, and now it seemed like he'd gotten himself someone else. And with all the women in the world it had to be her. She felt herself losing the ability to control her emotions, like a dam about to break.

"Is everything okay?"

Through teary eyes she looked into the handsome face of Dr. Chevreau. "Oh Guy," she cried out.

Without a word he took her in his arms and held her affectionately causing the distraught woman to feel like she was spiraling down into a pit.

Mike shook his head at the strange conversation. He'd not really thought of connecting with the woman. But her enthusiasm made him reconsider. From what he remembered she'd been pretty hot and was a good listener. Best of all, she seemed uncomplicated. Uncomplicated was definitely something he needed right now. It seems he had something more pleasant to ponder now. With a renewed spring in his step he headed back towards the building he needed to report to.

Entering in, he was struck by the difference in pace from the headquarters. People in uniform moved about at a controlled and orderly pace, not seeming to have any sense of urgency. The contrast to the excited buzz in the other building deflated what air had been filling in Mike's balloon from his conversation with Libby.

He went to stand before an orderly desk that was manned by a stern faced female Army Sergeant who seemed engrossed in something on her Apple laptop computer. Mike stood there, awkwardly waiting, until she seemed to notice him.

"What can I do for you Sergeant?" she asked curtly.

"I'm here to report to Colonel Wingate."

"And you are?"

"Staff Sergeant Nantz."

Looking unimpressed she looked in a file before responding, "Yes, we've been expected you. Wait here."

Leaving him to go to the back of the building Mike made a mental note to spend as little time in this place as he could. His speaking tour suddenly seemed to be a pleasant tasking compared to this one.

A pudgy, balding man with glasses wearing an Army uniform walked quickly towards him and thrust out his hand. "Staff Sergeant Nantz! A pleasure to meet you. When I heard from General Daily he was assigning you to my staff, well I was thrilled."

Mike saluted instead of taking the offered hand. "Thank you for your welcome sir. I'll do the best I can to live up to it."

"Oops, sorry about that!" Wingate apologized, returning the salute. "Old habit. I'm a Reservist, as if you couldn't tell, huh?" he confessed self-deprecatingly. "In the civvie world I'm a director of personnel with IBM. Anyway, that doesn't matter here. Come with me. I'd like to share with you what I have in mind for you."

Leaving the stern-faced Sergeant who seemed displeased by the exchange the pair went to his modestly appointed officer. The offered Mike a Brisk which he took and bid him sit down.

"Staff Sergeant, I'm glad to have you with us. I'm sure as you looked around you could figure out this unit is lacking in people with not only field experience but also combat experience. I also can figure out that this is likely one of the last places you want to be. I don't know the circumstances but I can figure that out. It sucks for you but this is an opportunity for me that I've desperately wanted."

Mike was taken aback by the honestly of the seemingly out-of-his-element officer. _I bet this guy's a real pro at IBM_ he thought. He instantly perked up and began to pay attention.

"We're starting to get a steady flow of troops coming into the area which is good but few of them have any combat experience and none against the alien threat. This has caused some pretty major problems and higher then acceptable casualties as a result."

Mike could attest to this and appreciated the accurate assessment. This rear-area guy was doing his homework and seemed to have a good grip on the situation. _Point for him._

"We desperately need especially to get the senior NCO's us to speed so they can manage their troops more effectively. This is where you come in. I want you to develop then implement an arrival training plan to brief then prep them for the front. It needs to be quick and practical to they can hit the ground running."

"You want me to develop this sir?" Mike asked in surprise. Never had he been trusted with something like this.

"Listen, I'm not going to BS you. I know nothing about combat but I do know about quality people and you are one, Grade A. You are a gift from God to me and you can do some real good to the war effort here, more then you could on the front. Are you effective leading? No one is going to argue that. But think of the impact of training potentially hundreds of NCOs in your methods."

Mike was stunned by the implications. He'd never thought about it before. But this seemingly unremarkable reservist had been switched on enough to figure out the big picture. He was embarrassed for how he'd judged the admin Colonel.

Now the choice is yours," Wingate told him frankly. "I'm not going to dog you, and I won't report it up the chain if you decide to mail it in because this wasn't your choice. Maybe I'm too corporate for the military but you're a big boy and you need to make up your own mind. I need you for this and I want you for it. But I also want your co-operation on this project not some coerced toady. Am I clear on this?"

Mike was stunned by the declaration. He was not only being given a choice, he was needed. Looking around the room he could see the reality of the situation. Thinking back to his experience the other day with young Sergeant Lipton he could see not only the need but urgency. This was an honorable calling, one he could sink his teeth into. "Yes sir!" he sat ramrod straight, filled with resolve. He had the chance to shape the early combat experience of potentially thousands of men, saving lives and helping the war effort. He'd been selfish. This unassuming man he'd written off had not only shown him this but challenged him to do something about it.

"So, are you on board?" Wingate asked pointedly.

"I'm your man sir," Mike answered enthusiastically.

"All right then, let's get down to work."


	31. Chapter 31 Things not as they appear

**Chapter 31 –Things not as they appear**

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

Michele sat rolling the foam cup holding cold coffee around in her hands. The troubled woman looked intently at the dimples in the cup, avoiding the captivating eyes trying to ensnare her. The pair had been sitting in the coffee shop for two hours since Michele had overheard the conversation on the phone between Mike and Libby. At first she had denied it bothered her but the patient doctor had steadily chipped away at her tough exterior façade. She'd begun to cry, something she'd pledged not to do with him around at this point.

She wanted to get away from everyone, to clear her head and collect her thoughts. Unfortunately he wouldn't leave and she didn't have the strength or will to walk away. It would be so easy to give in, to drink deep of the pool of affection he offered, to lose herself. Yet something inside of her would not let go, would not cross the line. Was it stubbornness? Ignorance? Or something more? She needed to think.

"I know you're troubled, Michele," Dr. Chevreau said understandingly. "To be conflicted is natural considering everything you've gone through. But I want you to consider this: where does affection end and obligation begin?"

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, confused yet curious about the strange question.

"It's simple really. This soldier saved your life. He's handsome; you're vulnerable having gone through a trauma. Are you attracted to him? Of course, but what's the motivation? Is there a depth of feeling or is there something more? That puts me at a disadvantage."

"How so?" She was getting drawn in.

"Well, I have nothing to recommend me to you other then my feelings."

Michele physically sat back in her chair as if she'd been pushed. Was this true? Were her feelings for Mike based on what he'd done? She'd often thought that if they'd met in different circumstances things would have been different.

"Then there's his feelings," Guy continued.

"What do you mean by that?"

"He saved your life, he protected you, even got wounded for you. Don't you think that creates a strong reaction?" he reasoned.

"Well yes, of course. Its natural," she had to admit.

"Yes, but think of the long-term implications. Does it last if this is what it's based on?"

"You might have a point."

The doctor satisfied smile didn't reveal the chess game he seemed to be playing but the next statement did. Confident he had the woman in checkmate he moved to muddy the water just a little bit more. "And besides, he's a soldier."

"What do you mean by that?" Michele asked pointedly, a cautionary tone in her voice that the confident doctor missed.

"I mean they have certain character traits. It makes them effective in combat, desperately needed really in times like this, but beyond…well, you told me about his being out with Libby," Guy added not able to suppress a smirk.

Something snapped in Michele, like a light switch had gone on. This man who had never put his life at risk for anything was making character judgments on not just Mike but those who were sacrificing their lives for him to have the luxury of these opinions. Suddenly he didn't seem quite so handsome. "Guy, I need to go," she declared, pushing her chair back. "I have some things to think about."

Instinctively knowing he may have overplayed his hand, Guy tried to backtrack. "Listen, Michele, I'm upset because you're upset. If I said anything to hurt you, please forgive me. I care about you, deeply, and want to be with you." He shot forward, taking her hands in his and gripped them, looking deep into her eyes. "Please, I want to be with you. I know I'm not perfect but I can give you so much and believe I can make you happy. Just give me a chance."

Michele was taken back by the passion of his plea but not entirely moved. She knew she needed some time alone to process this but already a few things were becoming clearer. She stood and walked away, avoiding the gaze, determined to clear up her conflicted feelings.

The first week in his new position went by like the blink of an eye for Mike. He'd thrown himself into the task of developing a plan to prep new NCOs for combat and before the end of the week he'd already had the chance to begin to implement it. No time for scenarios or computer models. It had to be easy, quick and right the first time. Surprisingly, he found the men coming in eager to learn what he could share. Many had combat experience in Afghanistan or Iraq and yet they sat intently listening to his counsel and running through the simple drills and exercises he put them through before sending them on their way. Many were appreciative, thanking him for the insights. One in particular, a grizzled Army Chief Warrant Officer even shook his hand. The next test would be if anything he shared even made a difference or not but at least he felt like he was doing something that could make a difference.

Also, he liked working with . Wingate and found the officer a bit of an enigma. The man was clearly out of his element in the military, constantly making mistakes with protocol and such which seemed to irritate most of the staff but he also clearly had a brilliant mind and knew people very well. Despite his clear civilian demeanor Mike found he liked the man and was learning from him. For his part, Wingate seemed to see something in Mike he wanted to learn from so the two spent a fair amount of time together.

Libby had called him several times through the week. How she'd gotten his number he didn't know but he found their conversations a welcome distraction. She seemed to hang on his every word and her enthusiasm was attractive. The nurse kept pressing him to get together but he didn't have the time and part of him still wasn't sure. But he knew he couldn't put her off forever, nor increasingly did he want to.

No, things were turning out better for him then he'd thought.

**Somewhere in Alhambra, LA**

The alien stopped retreating and turned to fire its wrist-mounted machine guns. Anticipating the move Imlay acted faster. Dropping to one knee he directed a burst of 5.56mm rounds into the chest area of the infantry caste creature. It squealed then crumpled to the ground.

Two more aliens off to the leading Marine's right did the same thing but a trailing member from Imlay's fire team lobbed a grenade overhead from his M203 launcher the explosion tossing the would-be attackers high in the air like rag dolls.

Imlay smiled despite the action going on around him. They were working well together and making a difference.

Lockett and his fire team moved through to the next bound, the steady _pop pop pop_ from his M4A1 setting the tone.

The 2-5 had been pushing the aliens forward all morning. The squids had seemed to break again so had been falling back in disarray block by block. The pace had been rapid though and units began to get separated in the chase. For the Marines of Lt. Gordon's platoon they were advancing towards a Target store. The parking lot to their front now visible on the horizon was still scattered with abandoned cars. A pair of low-rise buildings burned off to the left throwing a plume of smoke up into the air. A steady breeze blowing from the east though carried a wispy grey fog over the soldier's line of advance, obscuring visibility and making it more difficult for them to see.

Things got suddenly quiet after the cat-and-mouse game of seek and destroy that had been going on all morning.

Imlay moved up parallel with Lockett to confer since they were leading the advance.

"Hard to see through the smoke," Lockett commented tensely.

"You're right brother," Imlay agreed. "Those buildings sure are throwing it off."

"Ready to move the next bound? I'll take us up to the edge of the objective and you take us through."

Imlay nodded his head and the group stood up to move but something didn't sit right in the seasoned combat veterans mind. "Hold position," he yelled out, then spoke into the microphone in front of his mouth confirming, "Echo-2-Mike, holding. Echo-2-Mike consolidating position."

"What's up?" Lockett asked in confusion.

"The buildings man, how are they burning?"

The light went on for the African-American. "Yea, we've had no arty in the area or air support. It stinks."

"We need to get some eyes on and know what's up ahead before we press in," Imlay commented wisely to which Lockett nodded in agreement.

"What are you doing?" A voice yelled from behind. The pair turned to see their platoon NCO Sgt. Gutierrez come trotting up. "Keep moving we've got them on the run."

"Doesn't feel right Sarge," Imlay answered. "Squids may be up to something."

"No way. We've got them on the run. There's no way they had the time or smarts to do anything. If we stop we'll lose contact." Seeing the look of concern on the faces of the two Corporals the Sergeant declared with frustration, "Fine, I'll lead us in."

"Shouldn't we talk about this with Lt. Gordon?" Imlay asked, trying to be respectful but get his point across.

"He's too far back," Gutierrez shot back tersely. "There's no time so get your guys wired up and follow me."

Imlay and Lockett shared a look with each other in response to the gung-ho NCO's declaration but there was nothing they could do. The Latino Sergeant who had joined them earlier in the week was already moving off with a pair of replacement Marines.

"Let's go, press forward," he ordered to the rest, waving his arm for the others to join him. The remainder of those in the front reluctantly got up and began to move towards the open area to their front.

They never made it that far.

Gutierrez turned back and ordered, "Imlay, bring the…"

A familiar ripping sound filled the air and the next moment Gutierrez's head exploded from a direct hit like a pumpkin smashed with a baseball bat.

The area around the Marines suddenly sizzled with alien machine gun fire. Several grenades were launched in sending the humans scrambling. The two young Marines who'd been with the Sergeant were incinerated by several explosions while the others clambered to find cover.

"Cover fire! Cover fire!" Lockett screamed as he bobbed and weaved his way around, trying to set the soldiers who'd been ambushed into a defensive position.

Aliens rushed out from both sides to flank them, proving the Marines had allowed themselves to get overexposed.

Fortunately they had two M249 machine guns up so Imlay directed suppressing fire that checked the alien's progress allowing the others to find whatever cover they could. They were still too exposed though, without proper cover. Several more Marines went down in the continuing rain of fire coming from the surging aliens.

"This is Echo-2-Mike, we need air support on our mark," Imlay screamed into his radio knowing they couldn't do it alone and praying someone friendly was in the area, "we're being overrun and need help, over."

"This is Yankee-3-Niner," a voice reported back right away, "we have your position and are inbound to provide close air cover. Pop smoke south and west of your position, we'll take care of the rest. We're four mikes out so hang tough."

"We got gunships inbound!" Imlay yelled out for the others. "Four minutes out. We need to pop smoke to mark their position.

After throwing three smoke grenades, which only added to the fog of war, the beleaguered Marines hunkered down and held on. For Lockett and Imlay that was the longest four minutes of their lives. The air sizzled with intense alien fire, hungrily seeking targets.

Then the familiar _whomp whomp whomp_ of helicopters could be heard above the din of battle. Appearing above the trees that lined the street the Marines had been following a trio of deadly Apache gunships popped up to loose a salvo of Hydra 70's from their rocket pods. The ground erupted in flame and explosion as dirt and pavement was churned up. Aliens were thrown about, checking their advance but a covering group directed their fire on the helicopters successfully hitting one. Smoke began to pour from the back and it was forced to limp away to safety rather then stay exposed and risk a crash. The remaining pair turned their attention on the new threat. The air ripped angrily as they let leash their 30mm chain guns. Checking the aliens progress, that allowed the remaining Marines to go on the offensive as others arrived to provide support.

Knowing they'd been beaten, but seeming happy for the damage they'd inflicted, the aliens melted into the urban jungle and disappeared.

The helicopters hovered around but had nothing to engage.

"Appreciate the help Yankee-3-Niner, we'd have been toast without you," Imlay thanked their rescuers over the radio.

"Happy to help, 2-Mike. We don't want you grunts to have all the fun. Happy hunting," the leader of the Apaches replied. The lead craft dipped its wings then the remaining pair zipped off in hunt of new prey.

Lt. Gordon came running up to the area of battle, anger marring his handsome face. "What the hell happened up here?" he demanded.

"We got ahead of ourselves sir and the squids jumped us," Imlay answered evasively.

"And how did that happen?"

Neither of the remaining Corporals answered, looking away instead.

Gordon could figure it out as he spotted the body of his dead platoon Sergeant. He sighed heavily, already knowing how the loss of yet another senior NCO was going to look. He'd heard the whispers already. "All right. Police up the area, look after the wounded. We're too banged up to continue so I'll have the Captain rotate another platoon through us."

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

Mike finally had the opportunity for a break after his hectic transition to the new role. . Wingate allowed him some time off so he decided to use it to his advantage. Libby had been pestering him for a date so he finally relented and would meet the woman later in the day. Though he looked forward to being with the attractive, enthusiastic nurse he'd also been thinking about Michele. He'd not heard from her since receiving his initial information about her though he in return had made no effort either. That didn't sit right with him. There needed to be some sort of resolution to this festering wound. But first he needed to see Hector. That was some unfinished business too. He seemed to have too much of that lately. Regardless, he wanted to spend some time with the orphan and re-establish their relationship.

Walking to where the boy lived gave Mike some more time to reflect. So much had changed in the last six months yet in many ways little of substance was any different. He continued to be reactive rather then proactive, trying to deal with what came his way rather then fulfilling any sense of destiny.

Destiny?

He'd not felt that for a long time. Yet what had he been experiencing ever since the aliens invaded and his life had been turned upside down? This certainly wasn't random. There definitely seemed to be a flow, a direction. But who was controlling it? Was he a pawn in a big celestial chess game? No, not quite that. He could see, as he looked back, that the choices he'd made had an impact on what was going on. Then it struck him. It wasn't an either/or proposition but rather a combination of the two. Mike chewed on that thought for a while and it put a spring in his step. He had a new perspective one that told him it did matter and so did he. Before he knew it he stood before Hector's non-descript home. Suddenly he realized he hadn't contacted the boy's aunt about a visit. He prayed things would go different then the last two times.

Hector opened the door without looking. Seeing Mike the heavy air of oppression fell off the boy and his face lit up. "Staff Sergeant! You're here." Then seeing the new insignia on his uniform he exclaimed, "You've been promoted!"

"Hi Hector. Yes, they've made me a Gunnery Sergeant. Got some time?"

The boy's sunny disposition faded. "No, not really. My aunt's not here and I have work to do."

"Not here huh?" Mike answered trying not to show his delight at the report. "Why don't we do it together? That might make it more fun and we can spend some time together."

"Would you really? That would be awesome," Hector responded enthusiastically.

For the next ninety minutes they worked through the various mundane tasks Hector had been left to do. Mike kept his anger in check at the way the boy was being used by the selfish woman. Not only did he find out the boy was doing all the housework but he also held a number of jobs to bring money in. The unfairness of the situation stuck in his throat. Yet the boy didn't complain, instead he seemed to make the most of whatever fell on him. Mike spontaneously patted Hector affectionately on the back at the thought of the selflessness he was seeing.

The boy recoiled as if stung, pain etched on his face.

"What's the matter?" Mike asked directly, surprised by the response.

"Nothing. I…I'm fine."

Mike looked at the boy hard and a horrible thought came into his mind. "Lift up your shirt."

"No, really, it's okay," the boy answered evasively, resisting the request.

"Lift up your shirt Hector," Mike ordered.

Sheepishly the boy complied though he looked at the ground rather then the Marine who watched with fearful anticipation. Ugly welts, raw and puffy, marred the boy's smooth back.

"Who did this to you?" Mike demanded tersely.

"I…I fell down. I was just clumsy, that's all."

"Don't lie to me Hector."

"I'm not it was my fault."

The boy was becoming upset so Mike backed off though inside he was seething, anger at what had happened welling up inside. He knew what was going on but Hector would never tell. The tough Marine felt impotent. Their conversation was stiff after that, the realization building a wall between them. A short time later they parted company. Mike needed to talk to someone about this, needed to know what to do. But he wasn't sure where to turn.


	32. Chapter 32  Refocusing

**Chapter 32 - Refocusing**

Mike had sat listening to the attractive nurse chatter on for over an hour. He hadn't had much to say but that created no difficulty, Libby was able to carry the conversation. Not that it was a problem, the conversation had been pretty light which in some ways was good for the man whose mind seemed full to bursting. Plus she wasn't too hard on the eyes. Her silky long black hair seemed to catch the light as it hung straight between her shoulder blades. Then there were her eyes. Deep green pools of emerald that swallowed him up into a land he wasn't sure he wanted to come back from. Those weren't her only appealing features. She had other obvious assets amply displayed. No, not hard on the eyes at all.

But something also wasn't sitting right with him. Something in the back of his mind wasn't allowing him to totally relax with this woman. Something wasn't adding up. Try as he might to push the nagging thought from his mind and focus on the woman who was obviously interested in him he couldn't.

Then the dots all connected.

"You were the woman at the hospital," Mike declared suddenly cutting Libby off.

"Yes," she replied hesitantly, unsure of where he was going, "I'm a nurse at the hospital. I told you that when we first me."

"I mean you're the one who told me about Michele and that doctor," Mike clarified.

"Uhm, yes, that's true," her eyes darted away from his. Then regaining confidence she countered, "I hope that's not a problem."

"I'm not sure. It does seem like a strange coincidence."

Libby knew she was trapped but she was also skilled at this game so knew how to maneuver the tight turns. "I thought you deserved to know," she countered. "It wasn't fair for her to be carrying on that way with him and you be in the dark. You've done so much for so many people. You didn't deserve that. So I told you. But I never meant it to upset you." She let the words sink in then added, "As for us, well, I'd just like you to be happy."

The bluntness of the statement disarmed Mike. The attractive woman stared at him, her big eyes drinking him in. He pondered it for several minutes while she remained silent, continuing to look at him with affection.

"So, you're a pretty good dancer," Libby declared, seemingly satisfied Mike wasn't going to pursue that train of thought so changing the subject.

Mike snorted. "Sure, maybe when I'm half in the bag."

"No, I'm serious," Libby radiated. "You were great. It was too bad we were interrupted. We'll have to do that again sometime."

"Yea, that might be fun," Mike replied, but something in her comment made him uneasy. He knew he'd been 'interrupted' by people who cared about him. Unfortunately he didn't remember much about the end of the night so tried to put it out of his mind as paranoia.

The next three hours flew by as afternoon turned to evening. It was an altogether pleasant time for Mike. Libby was vivacious, full of life and obviously interested in him. When it was time to leave he walked her back to the building where she lived. It was a clear night, stars filling the sky. Mike never once thought about which star their attackers had come from as he often did, instead simply enjoying the beautiful canvas of light.

"Would you like to come in for a night cap?" Libby asked invitingly.

"No, thanks for the offer but I have an early morning so I should get going," he answered, though tempted. Some things still weren't sitting right with him.

"Oh, that's too bad," she pouted a bit, her lips sticking out which made her seem even more attractive. "I had a great time Mike."

"Me too," he replied then stuck out his hand to say goodbye.

She laughed lightly like tinkling bells at his gesture. "Well at least we can say goodbye properly." She glided in and placing her hands behind his head kissed him hard. The kiss was electric and he found himself responding. His arms found her waist and the two began to intertwine. She pushed his head closer, as if that were possible, as if trying to swallow him. He could feel the firmness of her body, the heat beginning to emanate and the beating of her heart all simultaneously. His senses were alive with the sensations as the woman drew him in. Suddenly, as if blinking and opening his eyes he realized they were now inside her room rather then the hallway and her hands had strayed low and to his hips.

"Whoa," he said as much to himself as to her as he pulled away trying to catch his ragged breath. "Call me old fashioned but I'm not ready for this yet."

She gave him an intense look for a flash second that he couldn't understand which then morphed into a sweet demeanor. "Such a gentleman," she cooed, lightly running her fingers over his face. "Of course darling. Whatever you want, we have all the time in the world. I just want to make you happy."

She gave him a light peck on the cheek and led him out with a pledge they'd see each other soon. Mike stumbled away, a bit unsteady as if he were intoxicated. If he'd thought things were complicated before that was nothing compared to this.

The next day Michele was doing her rounds at the hospital. Guy had tried to get in touch with her several times but thus far she'd avoided him. She was still confused, unsure what to do, but thoughts of Mike continued to flood in. It wasn't what he had done for her and her nieces though that was significant. No, it had been later, when they'd been together. She'd forgotten that in the confusion of everything going on lately. There was more to this then simple gratitude. She'd forgotten and felt ashamed.

"Come on girlfriend, don't hold out on us. Spill it."

The shrill voice coming from down the hall broke Michele's concentration. She immediately saw a small group of female hospital workers huddled around Libby, a smug look filling her face as she looked past them and down the hall to the new observer of the conversation.

"Well, if you really want to know about what Mike and I did last night…" she let her voice trail off to build suspense.

"You're so evil! Of course we do. Stop holding out!"

. Libby had big news but knew how to draw it out to gain the biggest impact.

With a sense of flair the young nurse began to share what they'd talked about and what they'd done during their date. She seemed skilled at spinning a story and had the rapt attention of the small group around her who hung on every word.

Michele pretended she was intently looking at the chart of a wounded National Guard soldier who had finished surgery earlier in the morning. But she wasn't concentrating. She couldn't with Libby's star dominating not only the nurse's station but the area. The troubled woman found herself getting drawn into the conversation. Worse still, she could see it unfolding in her mind: she could see the expressions on his face, the reactions to Libby's witty conversation. It was killing her! Why couldn't she be like that? Why couldn't she be carefree and spontaneous? _No wonder Mike's not interested in me_, she thought miserably. _I'm nothing more then a brooding cauldron of emotion_. Maybe she should give Guy's offer more serious thought.

Kelly was separated from the gossiping group but watched Michele out of the corner of her eye. She could tell her friend was becoming increasingly troubled by what she could obviously hear. The wise nurse knew that Libby was embellishing the story for effect but could also see the impact this was having on Michele. She began to pray silently for her friend that this wouldn't undo some of the thoughts building within.

"And then we…well, you know, a lady doesn't kiss and tell," Libby finished cagily.

"But…," a listener implored her breathlessly.

Libby gave a coy shrug and raised her eyebrow sending the other women into fits of ecstasy as their imaginations ran wild.

Theirs were not the only imaginations going off to the races.

Michele could stand it no longer. She closed the chart and briskly started to walk away. Where she didn't know and didn't care, she just wanted to get away. Cheeks flushed red hot she didn't know what she felt-angry, hurt, confused, jealous, all of them. The tormented woman felt someone grab her by the arm to stop her. Wheeling around with a retort she saw Kelly holding her arm, concern etched on her expressive face.

"What?" Michele demanded testily, more embarrassed then angry.

"Talk to me," Kelly implored. "What's going through your mind?"

Michele sighed heavily, the adrenaline propping her up already bleeding away. Tears filled her eyes. "What do you want me to say? It's over. I waited too long and Libby has him now."

"You don't know that Michele," Kelly implored. "Besides, Libby is a wicked exaggerator."

"So what? I can't compete with her."

"I never thought of you as a quitter." Kelly held up her hand to stop Michele from rebutting. "She's an air head. You have way more going for you then her enhanced features. You love him; I know it so you need to fight for him."

Michele paused, remaining silent as she pondered not only the statement but the implications of what was being said to her. "You're right," she agreed quietly. "I've been on the fence for too long. I need to be in all the way or get out," she nodded her head in agreement to the statement. "You've given me a lot to think about. Thanks."

Mike stewed at his desk, shuffling papers back and forth. He was more confused then ever. Memories of his date with Libby kept flooding in especially their kiss but thoughts of Michele shared equal space. Then there was Hector and the welts he saw on his back. There was something disturbing to that but he didn't know what to do. And he thought combat was tough!

. Wingate came in to his office holding a ream of folders. "You ready for the next intake Gunny?" Seeing that Mike didn't seem to catch the question the astute manager asked, "Is everything okay?"

"Yea, no problem Colonel, we're good to go," Mike responded without any zip.

The business executive turned Guard officer looked at the NCO carefully, his quick mind assessing what he saw. "Bull," he stated bluntly, "something's bothering you so spit it out."

"Its no big deal, I can handle it, sir," Mike responded with a note of panic at his personal problem being discovered."

"Listen Gunny, cut the crap. If something's bothering you as much as this obviously is it'll impact your performance. So out with it."

Mike couldn't argue with the logic and he had to admire not only the perception but also wisdom of the odd officer. "I just got some personal things to sort out. My heads not screwed on straight so I need to take care of it."

"Personal problems?"

"Yes," Mike affirmed, averting the gaze of the perceptive officer in embarrassment. "You have the right to tell me to suck it up and get the job done. Maybe that's what I need 'cause I don't want to be no drama queen. But this stuff is weighing heavy on me."

The officer didn't reply, but gave Mike a penetrating look, as if seeing into him. He nodded his head as if satisfied with what he saw. "Listen, Mike. I need you focused and your head in the game. If you're distracted you're of no use to me. So take some time off to get it sorted out then come back when you're ready."

"But I just had some time off."

"I don't see that as the same thing and I suspect it only contributed to the problem," Wingate surmised. "So do what you need to do and when you're ready report back to me. God knows you've earned this after everything you've been through and been put through."

Mike was floored by the declaration and compassion he was being shown. "Sir, I can't express my appreciation. But I don't know how long it'll take."

"Don't sweat it. I trust you. Come back when you're ready."

Trust. His superior trusted him. That meant the world and a number of things changed at that instant for the torn Marine.

Mike had left his office with the blessing of his boss shortly after that. The compassion Wingate had shown plus the confidence he'd put in him gave the troubled man a spirit of optimism that there was a solution to his growing list of personal problems. Miraculously, he found a quiet spot on the base away from the hustle and bustle of activity at the back of a vehicle repair faculty and sat down to think this all through. For several hours he pondered and mused but things continued to be cloudy. The Marine knew he couldn't do it alone, he needed some guidance. But who to turn to? Whether he'd been praying or just meditating he didn't know but a name came to mind almost immediately. He tried to press it away considering all that had happened between them. Yet another complication. But it kept coming to him, a voice in his head speaking with a growing volume: Father Alexander.

Knowing what he had to do, Mike walked the short distance to the administrative building where he knew the priest had a chapel and office. Entering into the dimly lit place of worship he allowed his eyes to adjust. Seeing the altar with the simple wooden cross on it he suddenly felt uncomfortable, knowing how he'd drifted spiritually.

Off to the side he could see the priest sitting in a small, brightly-lit office, the door partway open. Embarrassment welled up within causing Mike to feel like he'd stepped into quicksand at how he'd acted the last time they'd been together. He hesitated. How would the priest react? Would he be angry or cold towards him? Maybe he should just leave and figure this out on his own. But then he realized: this is Father Alexander. This man knows about grace and forgiveness. This guy knows God and he lives like it. He walked the several remaining steps and knocked on the door.

Father Alexander turned from the reading he was doing and his eyes lit up at what greeted him. Leaping from his chair he bounded to the door. "Michael, I'm so glad to see you," the priest declared, eyes getting watery. "I thought that after what happened, you'd…"

Mike saw anew the humble character of this man in action. He practiced what he preached and that gave him confidence to share what was heavy on his heart.

"Never speak to you again?" Mike answered, ashamed he'd acted that way towards the man who'd helped him significantly over the past several years. "Listen, I'm sorry. I was hurt and overreacted. I acted like a jerk. You were a convenient target so I took my frustration out on you. You've done so much for me, I could never forget that. I just let my anger get the better of me."

"Thank you Michael," the priest said quietly, "that means a lot. I'm sorry too. I should have told you about what was going on. I just didn't want to believe it and then things happened so quickly. I guess I forgot that God is perfect and I'm not."

Mike chuckled. "I don't have any problem remembering that." He paused. "Maybe the God part but not my part."

"Well that's the great thing about his forgiveness and grace," the priest replied. "You look troubled. What's on your mind?"

"Perceptive as always. It's the boy that I know, Hector. There's something going on with him I can't figure out."

"The one you rescued at the beginning of the war, right? What's happening?"

"He lives with his aunt and she's been making him work way harder then is fair for him."

"That is unfortunate," Father Alexander affirmed, "but I don't think there's much you can do about that. It's a matter of choice as unfair as that might be."

"There's more," Mike confirmed, with a grim look. "I think she's beating him."

The clergyman's face clouded at the report and his tone became grave. "That's a pretty serious accusation Michael. Do you have any proof?"

"I saw some nasty welts and bruises on his back. When I asked him about it he said he fell. He wouldn't talk about it." Mike had trouble containing his emotions. "If she's doing that to him I don't know what I'll do! I get so mad thinking about it I could…"

"I understand. To abuse a child, especially from your own family, is a heinous crime."

"I feel so helpless," Mike confessed in frustration. "I don't know what to do."

"I think I can help you," the priest confirmed, trying to channel the Marine's outrage into something positive. "Even though the civilian infrastructure may be shot this city is under military rule which means the force of law is in place. I know some people from Child Protection. Let me talk to them and see what our options are."

_Our options_, Mike thought, _he's on my side. I'm not in this alone_. "Thanks Father Alexander that would be great."

The priest nodded his head in agreement, and then changed subjects. "What about Michele? What's happening with her?"

Mike winced at the pointed question. "I don't know. Things are all messed up."

"What do you mean by 'messed up'?" the priest pressed him. "More importantly, what are you doing to make it right?"

"It's complicated," Mike responded evasively. "Plus I've met someone else. I'm just not sure the hassle is worth it."

Hassle? Love a hassle? Well yes, but then anything of value comes at a cost. We're lazy by nature as humans so will settle for less then what we can achieve. If we want something, we have to work for it. It's like with my running. I'd like to run a marathon and not have to train but I do. Love and relationships are the same way. You get out what you put in and that means sacrifice sometimes."

"Sure, I know that. But I was down that road with Amanda," Mike countered. "I did the work and it still ended in disaster. Michele is getting so complicated. Libby is simple and that's not so bad."

"I was with you when you wrote to Michele before your tour, remember. Have your feelings changed?" the priest asked gently.

"I don't know. Maybe…maybe not."

"Well unless you're absolutely sure you owe it to yourself, and to her, to be sure. The Lord knows you've both been through a lot and are under a lot of pressure. Things have become complicated but love can conquer them all and the reward on the other side of the struggle is something you can't put a value on."

Mike chuckled. "I didn't know you were so sentimental."

"That's true, I guess I am," Father Alexander replied a bit sheepishly, "but it's also taught to us by Jesus and found in the Bible so it's not just fluffy sentimentality. Michael, I will support whatever you decide but if you don't try to set things right with Michele I can't see you having any lasting peace."

The thoughtful Marine pondered the idea for a moment, absently rubbing the cleft in his chin. "You're right. Annoyingly right but right. I do still have feelings for her. I'm just not sure how deep they go. I thought I knew but now…well, there's so much white noise in my life it's hard to know what voice to listen too. I will talk to her though." He paused for a moment and for the first time tried to look at things from Michele's perspective. "I can only imagine what it was like to hear all that crap about me and Amanda all over the news. I can't blame her if she was hurt and confused by it. I do need to clear the air and see if anything is left."

"You're a heroic man Michael," the priest beamed. "Not because you fight but because you're willing to see how you've contributed to the problem and then try to do something about it."

The concept caught Mike off guard. He'd not thought of it that way. All he wanted to do was the right thing. He was beginning to see that perhaps he had more character within then he'd thought. Suddenly, he looked forward to seeing Michele and clearing the air.


	33. Chapter 33 Responses

**Chapter 33 - Responses**

They saw each other almost at the same time. The surprise registering on each of their faces was evident to the other. Both stopped, as if sizing up the other in order to determine just what would transpire and a long, awkward pause ensued.

Mike and Michele had both resolved to seek the other out in order to talk and try to clear the air. Leaving their respective places of work with determination they confidently went to where they'd hopefully find each other. But as each got closer the resolution began to melt away with doubt replacing. What would they say? How would the other react? Apprehension began to creep in. Then, just about halfway for each, they spotted each other, neither prepared for the sudden meeting but neither wanting to lose the moment.

"Mike, hi. I…I was just coming to see you," Michele began, breaking the ice.

"Funny coincidence. I was just heading over to the hospital to try and find you," he replied, a knot growing in his stomach.

The two looked at each other, neither knowing what to say next.

"How've you been?" Mike finally asked, not sure where to begin so choosing a safe opening.

"Okay. A lot's been going on since you left but I've been trying to stay busy," Michele responded. The strained look on Mike's face let her known he'd misunderstood what she meant by 'busy'. "I've been doing extra shifts at the hospital plus also been helping with some church groups doing relief work for those who've lost everything."

"Good for you," Mike said, genuinely impressed. "I'm glad that after everything you've been through you can still think of other people."

She was happy for his answer. "There's a lot who have it way worse then me. I'm just trying to do my part. How about you? Are you back with the guys in your platoon?"

Again, she seemed to have caused the man discomfort.

"No. I've been reassigned to a training company in the rear area." Seeing a look of surprise on Michele's face at the unexpected report he added, "Someone in Washington it seems thinks I'm too valuable as a PR figure to fight so I got pulled off the line."

"I'm so sorry to hear that Mike," Michele responded, genuine concern etched on her face. "Are you okay?"

"It was hard at first," he admitted, "but I've got a good CO to work with and can help prep guys for the front. I guess I'm trying to do my part too."

The tension seemed to ease though another awkward pause ensued.

"I heard you've met Libby," Michele blurted out nervously.

"What if I have?" Mike answered tensely.

"Nothing, I just heard it. She's very attractive."

Mike could see the pain this seemed to be causing Michele at the implied comparison. This not only caught him off guard but also impressed him. Still, there was the issue of the doctor. "Yea, we've talked a few times. I've heard you met someone too…a doctor at the hospital."

"Yes. And we've gone out a few times," Michele admitted honestly. "But….," she paused, having trouble keeping her emotions in check. "Oh Mike, everything has gotten so confused. I just don't know what to think anymore these past few weeks. I'm miserable."

"Really?" Mike responded in genuine surprise.

"Really. Ever since the stuff on the news about you and Amanda…and people started talking…things just got…confused."

Suddenly Mike could see the torment in the troubled woman so forgot his own story and saw things from her perspective. It must have been terrible. "That stuff…," he began.

"You don't have to say anything. You don't…"

"Yes, I do," he cut her off. "Amanda just showed up one day during the tour. It caught me off guard and I wasn't sure what to do. She did want to get back together. But not for me. She was no different and only was interested in what I represented. It took me a bit of time to figure that out. Unfortunately there was someone on the tour who thought he could get a story out of this so leaked all that stuff and even kept it going once I got my head screwed on straight. I never seriously thought about her." Mike then looked down to avoid Michele's intense gaze. "I only ever thought of you when I was gone."

"You did?" Michele declared breathlessly.

"I did. But then I returned and….found out what you were doing…," he let his voice drift, not sure how to conclude.

Now it was her turn to feel terrible, seeing the torment she must have caused him when he came back and found out how she had dealt with her conflicted emotions.

"Mike, I didn't know."

"And neither did I."

The two stood looking at each other for what seemed like an hour, not knowing what to say or do.

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee?" Michele asked, taking a risk by asking but desperately wanting to break the ice.

"I'd like that."

They found a coffee shop and sat for hours in a corner booth away from the hustle and bustle of the world around them. They talked about nothing in particular, catching up on some topics, sharing thoughts on others. It was light and altogether pleasant. Michele kept putting off leaving, though she had a shift at the hospital she needed to get too.

"I liked this. It was really nice," Michele declared, spontaneously grabbing his forearm and giving it a squeeze. Suddenly aware of what she'd done, she pulled back cautiously.

"Me too. I'm sorry we let things get away from us," he responded, pushing a wisp of hair away from her face with his hand.

"Can I see you again?" she asked with anticipation.

"I'd like that," he answered with a broad grin.

Later while doing her rounds at the hospital, Michele couldn't help but smile. Despite the fact nothing really had changed with Mike and her, the conversation had been a starting point between them and reminded her of how she really felt. A new determination to try to rebuild what they'd once had started to percolate. Despite the Libby-factor she began to gain confidence that she could win him back. Kelly's encouragement to fight buoyed her spirits.

"Michele, can we talk?"

It was Guy.

She turned to face the doctor and saw he had an irritated expression on his face.

"I'm not sure Dr. Chevreau. I'm kind of busy right now. Maybe later, okay?" Michele answered, caught off guard.

"Doctor?" he replied in surprise. Putting his hand on her arm he asked, "Why so formal Michele? Is anything bothering you?"

She gently but firmly pulled her arm of out his grasp which he noted. "No, everything's fine. I've just had a chance to think some things through. Yes, we really do need to talk. How about in an hour in the staff room?"

"The staff room?" he responded in surprise. He gave her a penetrating look but Michele stood her ground. "So be it," he said with a sigh. "I'll see you then."

Guy turned and walked away in a huff, his lab coat billowing in his wake. Michele watched him leave, saddened by their exchange yet in some ways even more buoyant with renewed resolution.

"So Michele, I heard you had a nice little chat with Mike."

It seemed to be her day to deal with agitated people.

Michele turned to face Libby. The attractive nurse glared at her, an irritated look marring her normally vivacious face.

"Yes, as a matter of fact we had a real nice visit," she responded cheerfully which seemed to bother the nurse even more.

"Well isn't that just special," Libby responded icily. "What did you talk about?"

"China patterns," Michele deadpanned as she watched her protagonist's eye's bulge. "It's none of your business what we talked about."

"Fine," she spat back. "You're yesterday's news Michele. Everyone knows it so why don't you just give up?" Libby pressed, trying to intimidate the woman.

"Mike doesn't and he's really the only one whose opinion counts here," Michele answered, standing her ground.

"You're pathetic. You run around with Guy, with Mike, whoever. You're lost and Mike's not interested in that kind of woman. So just step aside and let him be happy and content."

Despite growing anger, there was an element of truth to what the nurse said. Mike did deserve someone who would stand with him. She would be that kind of woman. "In a way you're right Libby. I have been torn but now I'm not. Thanks for the reminder."

Rage filled Libby's face at the comment. "You don't have any claim on him. He can choose for himself and he's chosen me. "

"What? You go dancing with him when he's drunk and then out once and you have some sort of connection?" Michele retorted. "Mike and I have history."

"Sure, whatever," she retorted, "something based on the past. He and I have chemistry and that's…well, explosive."

"You don't know anything about him!" Michele shouted, finally losing her cool. "You don't know what he's been through. You're only after him because he's famous."

"Oh, I know all I need to about him. He's got a lot more going for him then fame," she batted her eyes. "He's got natural assets too that, yea, are pretty appealing. And yes, he is famous. What a great combo."

"You slut!" Michele spat out in disgust.

"That's rich coming from you! You're nothing more then a…" Libby shot back but was interrupted by Dr. Chevreau.

"Enough you two! You need to get ready to get back to work," he ordered.

"Listen Guy, this is none of your business. This is between your little girlfriend and me," Libby declared angrily.

"I am NOT his girlfriend," Michele spontaneously proclaimed, the sound of it causing a massive shift as reality seemed to crash in. She wasn't and she wouldn't be. She wanted Mike.

Guy looked at her with a strange expression on his face and swallowed hard. "It has nothing to do with your conversation," he declared in a clipped tone. "We need to prep for a massive intake of casualties. They'll be starting to arrive from the front in less then 15 minutes. Something big has just happened so it's all hands on deck."

**Somewhere in Ladera Heights, LA**

The Marines from the 11th Regiment had been making good progress all morning. They'd begun their push just before dawn and resistance had been unexpectedly light. They'd let LAVs of the already reformed 1st Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion pass them by. With the Highlanders out in front they could relax a bit since it was unlikely they'd be jumped. Other then a few scattered infantry caste aliens their foe had been largely absent. The soldiers still moved cautiously, conscious of ambush, but this had been their experience for the last several days. Many were beginning to whisper that the squids were beaten and the war would be over soon.

A halt was called and some of the troops were breaking out MREs to get a snack. A number grabbed HOOAH! Bars and began to munch on them contently. The sun shone making it a pleasant day after the rain they'd experienced the previous two. Being a regiment from California a number began to speak about surfing and the anticipation of getting back in the water once the war had been finished and life could carry on. No one expected things to be totally normal anymore, how could it? It would take a long time to rebuild but there would always be waves and boards. Perhaps the simple things in life would seem more satisfying afterwards compared to the restlessness people seemed to have before the war.

A low pulsing sound off in the distance was missed in the din of conversation but a series of explosions and fireballs visible to their front where the LAVs had gone got everyone's attention.

"Incoming!" a Marine on overwatch yelled.

The pulsing sound grew deafening as a dozen alien Wedge Ships flying in saucer formation flew low over the trees towards the place where the soldiers had been resting. A deafening hum built up as the Marines tried to scatter before a concentrated blast of energy erupted in combined fire. The ground boiled with flame as asphalt, concrete and even some abandoned cars flew into the air raining deadly debris. Crisply the Wedge Ships broke their formation and flew out seeking to destroy any humans they could. High-powered blasts from their Direct Energy Weapons systematically chewed up the regiment that was now retreating in disarray. None of the beleaguered Marines took the time to look into the sky to see four more saucers of Wedge Ships flying overhead.

It seems somehow the aliens had been able to re-establish air power.

The Marines had never seen it coming. And so the units pushing forward to their next objective in the liberation of LA now found themselves the hunted, suddenly obliterated in what turned out to be a massive counter-attack.

**Area Command Headquarters, Los Angeles Theatre of Operations**

"Sir," the orderly yelled urgently to General Daily who'd just come back from a run. "Something major is going on at the front. We need you in the command centre right away."

Still sweating from the workout but now feeling the pressure of the buzz in the tactical operations area he allowed his eyes to dart around to assess the urgency of what had greeted him. Seeing the frantic movement and hearing the voices yelling back and forth he knew this was no over-reaction. Something major indeed was going on. "I want a Sit-Rep," Daily ordered, accepting an offered towel from a female clerk.

"Sir, the aliens have seemed to have launched a major counter-offensive within the last hour," the Colonel in charge of the Operations Centre reported. "We've lost contact with the headquarters companies of the 11th and 4th Marine Regiments as well as the 41st Infantry Brigade. Information coming in is spotty but best we can figure, massive formations of infantry caste aliens supported by walking guns and other mobile artillery platforms have pushed out from Inglewood at least engaging and it appears routing our elements on a broad front."

"What counter-measures do we have to support our troops that are engaged?" the General asked, gritting his teeth in frustration.

"We've got some Apache gunships helping out plus a few flights of A10's from the 355th Fighter Wing. But that's all we've been able to scare up to help. We also have some B1's inbound from the 7th Bomber Wing but they'll take a while."

"What about armor?"

"Most of that is already engaged and the reserves are out of position."

"So we allowed ourselves to overextend and got caught with our pants around our knees?" Daily questioned rhetorically, already shifting his focus from re-establishing the lost momentum to damage control.

"It seems like it sir," the Major responded, avoiding eye contact.

"They've got to have been reinforced," Daily burst out in frustration. "Where did they come from?"

"Unknown sir. They also have new air assets and are pounding our staging areas."

Daily swore. "How did we not see this coming?" he yelled in frustration. He allowed the luxury of the flash of emotion for a minute then became the cool tactician. "All right. It is what it is and we need to act, NOW. Get the Air Force to bring their Predator drones in to sweep the area. I need to know what's up with the squids and what we're facing. Also, everyone's going to fall back here, to Rally Point Tango," he pointed along the line of the Santa Monica Freeway on the tactical map. "Give the signal for a fighting withdrawal and we'll consolidate there. It'll give us some good fields of fire and a decent killing zone against their ground assets. I want the 7th and 44th Air Defense Artillery Regiments to move up and support this new position. Get the 820th Squadron to get their birds up flying sorties until we tell them to stop," he clicked off. "Also I want any of the 16th Cavalry you can round up to put pedal to the metal and get there. We've got to hold the line until we can sort out what just happened. So everyone strap in, it's going to be a long day."

The signal was given to fall back and the units responded immediately, desperate to get back to a position they could hold. Reports began to stream in from various groups and casualties seemed to be mounting. It was all around a grim morning.

The headquarters was a hive of activity with logistics and supply people trying to support the effort to shore up the defensive position. By mid-afternoon the units had fallen back to their new defensive positions. The aliens seemed content to consolidate their gains allowing the beleaguered soldiers the opportunity to breathe.

Back at the area headquarters it also allowed General Daily and his staff the opportunity to try to figure out what had just happened.

"Sir, Predators coming on station and over target area," an operator reported to the commanding officer who still was in his running gear.

"All right. Bring all feeds to these terminals," he pointed out the area he was using to co-ordinate the actions of the day. "Captain Blatchford," he called out to his new intelligence chief, "I want you in on this too."

The drones flew over the area abandoned by the humans that morning showing live the destruction that had occurred in High Definition. General Daily winced as he saw the smoking vehicles and bodies lying where they'd fallen. Worse still, they caught glimpses of what appeared to be wounded soldiers being executed by aliens as they advanced.

"I want any Special Forces assets we have to insert into the area we withdrew from as soon as they can and bring out any wounded they can find. Make it happen."

As the drones flew in a search pattern they continued to see a steady stream of aliens advancing to the new front supported by a variety of hovercrafts. For the most part the aerial crafts were left alone though several were shot down by drones.

"They're definitely reinforcing," Blatchford stated, adjusting her glasses to get a better look.

"Yes, but from where?" Daily asked.

The reporter turned intelligence chief didn't reply. Instead she looked intently at the monitors showing the live feed from the remaining Predators. "Look, they seem to be breaking out here," she pointed to an area where the Harbor Freeway and San Diego Freeway intersected. "Let's redeploy some of the drones to see what's down there," she pointed down the 110.

"Do it," Daily ordered.

Several drone operators efficiently tapped away on their computers to send a pair of Predators on the course laid out. Within minutes they had their answer.

"There, see?" Captain Blatchford pointed out to Terminal Island. They could see at least a dozen large space craft partially submerged on the edge of several piers all disgorging infantry caste aliens in addition to a variety of vehicles.

"What the hell?" the General choked in shock. "Where did they come from?" he yelled out to those in the room.

"I don't know," Blatchford replied absently, barely able to breath. Already her quick mind was doing calculations on the numbers they would be facing. "But they're definitely reinforcing. This changes everything."

"All right people, I need answers," Daily called out. "Download satellite images, whatever but I need to know how they got in and how we allowed this to happen."

"Sir, we have the 7th Bomb Wing with one squadron of B1b's now on station and waiting for orders," an Air Force Major acting as a liaison reported.

"All right, have the Lancers nail their staging area," Daily ordered. "I want to cut them off at the root. Make sure they have a strong fighter screen to get in."

The liaison relayed the orders and waited for confirmation of receipt of the mission. "Bombers inbound, they'll be over the target in less then three minute," the Air Force Major reported

"Green light. Bomb them back into the Stone Age," the commanding general confirmed grimly.

"Valkrie Lead this is Whiplash, you have are clear for delivery. Deploy full package into the strike zone."

"How many ships are we talking about?" Daily asked tensely, trying to kill time.

"Eighteen, sir."

"And what are those B1's carrying?"

"Each bomber is carrying 30 CBU97 cluster bombs," the Air Force Major answered matter-of-factly.

Daily winced. "There won't be much of Terminal Island left once they're done."

"Cost of doing business sir," the Air Force officer replied without emotion.

"So be it. How long now?"

"Fifteen seconds. We'll get a report from the trailing craft on the damage in probably three minutes. Put it up on the squawk box," he ordered a Corporal.

Daily watched the clock on the wall almost stop. He hated to do more damage to the city, especially to an area that had a key economic element to it. But this was a cancer that needed to be cut out.

"Whiplash, this is Valkrie Lead," the voice coming over the speakers caused all conversation to stop. "All craft have delivered their ordinance but there is zero impact. I say again, zero impact. Mission is buster."

"Say again. Confirm Lead. What happened?"

"I confirm: no bombs landed in the target area. Its hard to report but there's some sort of energy shield or something around the island." The voice coming over the sound system sounded anxious and confused. "All the bombs just bounced off it and exploded in the air. There's no damage, the hostiles continue to ferry in fresh units."


	34. Chapter 34 Back to square one

**Chapter 34 – Back to square one**

Reports started to come in from around the world of alien counterattacks in a variety of countries. In each case they had seemed to be reinforced and were now working vigorously to re-establish bridgeheads at strategic points. In China, England, Australia and the Middle East, forces that previously had been near victory it seemed suddenly faced a fresh onslaught on both the land and sea. Europe was pressed anew and the aliens were expanding their hold in Brazil to neighboring countries. Everywhere, the nations had seemed to be caught unprepared for the severity of attack.

In the United States, aliens reappeared in the New York theatre of operations pressing the surprise to their advantage. Fortunately, fresh armored units from the Ohio National Guard had just coincidently come into the area to provide support at the critical time. The breakout the aliens had attempted didn't materialize. The Abrams tanks of the 145th Armored Regiment stopped them cold. Unfortunately casualties among the "Steel Panthers" had been high. Still, compared to LA, the New York response had been deemed more successful.

Everywhere the story was the same: new alien units had somehow been moved into position unknown to the human defenders to devastating consequences in some cases. The harvest of water had resumed, after several months of inactivity with fresh alien Water Extractors being reported filling as quickly as they could. Speculation began to run again in the scientific community about the impact of the dropping water table. But a more immediate, and therefore important, question was why? It was known the aliens used water to fuel and lubricate their vehicles and soldiers so why the sudden rush to aggressively gather and store more water?

Victory, which had seemed to be within grasp only days earlier now stood at a tipping point and could again go in the alien's favor. The United Nations continued to be paralyzed as an organizing body with nations not directly engaged in the fighting squabbling about providing material and military aid. Petty selfishness gave way to a growing isolationism among those who did not see the longer-term global impact. This was a true World War, for the survival of the human race, and all needed to be part of it. Unfortunately, pride and xenophobia still prevailed. The resulting imbalance and disruption of trade placed an enormous new strain on the world economy continuing to make the previous year's crisis in the European Economic Community seem like a spring shower.

Yet there were pockets of strength in international politics. Canada continued to vigorously support the United States. Their small, but highly efficient army had contributed significantly in the New York theatre of operations and would be called upon to do so again while CF18's of the Royal Canadian Air Force flew sorties along with their American counterparts on the west coast. In other parts of the world, China and Japan continued to world well together giving the hope for a relieving of tension in the Pacific if they ended up surviving.

Unfortunately in the Middle East Al Qaeda has used the recent turmoil to reinvigorate their flagging campaign for control in the vital region, oblivious to the threat to not just their religion but all mankind. The upside had been that followers of Mohammed had finally begun to see these people for what they were: radical terrorists bent on twisting the world to an outdated worldview. Now unsupported by the super powers of the world as they engaged in their own life and death struggle, the people of the nations impacted began to rise up to fight not only the alien invaders but the religious fanatics as well.

But if the attackers from a still unknown location were not defeated all these great strides for mankind would not be worth anything. First they had to win.

**Area Command Headquarters, Los Angeles Theatre of Operations**

"We can confirm sir that the squids are marshalling their forces from Terminal Island and feeding them into their counter-offensive from there," Captain Blatchford reported to General Daily pointing to several locations on photos that had been taken from the Predator Drone fly-bys. "We still don't know how they got in without anyone noticing but at this point it really doesn't matter."

Daily looked at the aerial images of the island that the intelligence officer had provided showing the concentration of alien personnel and resources. He could see that two of the three bridges connecting the 4 ½ square mile island between Los Angeles and Long Island harbors still stood, including the Vincent Thomas Bridge. "So lets drop the bridges and at least make it harder for them to bring their assets into the fight," Daily commented.

"The Air Force already tried that sir," Blatchford responded. "They were able to destroy the Gerald Desmond Bridge but then that damned energy field seemed to be extended to cover them too."

Daily rubbed his burning eyes. He hadn't slept since before the attack started and wouldn't anytime soon. "They've not had anything like this before! They didn't have it in the initial attack and we've not seen anything like this before. So where did this shield come from?" he demanded.

"I don't know," Blatchford replied. "I don't know if it's new tech or something they've just been holding in reserve. But they've got it and its effective."

"All right," Daily sighed in resignation. There was little point in debating what was. It was time for solutions. Okay, so what can you tell me about this shield?"

"Very little," the aggressive reporter responded with irritation. "We checked satellite images, thermal scans, everything. All we know is the source of origin is within it, somewhere on the island. It radiates up and out. Though we're not sure of the generators exact location we figure its somewhere in the central part of the island. We've also discovered the squids seem to be able to move back and forth through it, we've got video of that, but so far it's been impervious to anything we've hit it with."

"Options?"

"I'm working on that General," she replied tersely, a look of frustration on her face.

"Okay. Keep working on it. This is priority one right now. I need to know how to deal with this thing or we're pooched. What do you have for me?" he asked his operations officer.

"Well the reports are mixed," the third in command answered tensely. "We've established a defensive line with good secondary support roughly along the Santa Monica Freeway. The squids have renewed their assault but so far we're holding. Casualties have been higher then usual especially amongst our armored elements. Their drones knocked the hell out of us before we could get our AAA up and running. But now it's fairly stable."

"What else?"

"Unfortunately we've committed all our tactical reserve to stem the flood and most of the strategic reserve."

"So we've got nothing left?"

"No much sir. We have some unit's fresh in but just bits and pieces. We've had to pull them from their work up training and send them to the line to fill in some gaps."

"Right into the meat grinder," Daily huffed to himself in anger. He hated to see the soldiers be sent right in without being properly prepared. It seemed like in one day they had erased months of progress. Worse still, if the line broke they could be pushed right out of the city again. "So what are you telling Colonel?" the commander asked, knowing the answer already but wanting to hear it confirmed.

"If they punch through this line they could conceivably move unobstructed all the way to here," the Army officer confirmed, perspiration beginning to bead on his forehead.

"All right. Then we need more troops," Daily affirmed.

"I've talked to Washington about getting more units but they're…well….they have their own issues to deal with apparently."

Daily pounded the table he stood over in frustration. "What issues?" he screamed, losing his cool. Then calming down continued, "Leave that to me. We need more troops or we won't be able to hold our line let alone gain any initiative." He paced back and forth, considering his options as others waited for him to decide their course of action. The General had never felt more alone.

"We've got to take that shield down," he declared definitively. "That's the key to this whole thing. As long as they can stage without us harassing them they'll be able to counter anything we do."

"I agree sir but so far we've not found anything that works."

"Okay. Everyone, I want options," he called out to the assembled headquarters staff. "I don't care how crazy or stupid they sound. Be creative, watch old Sci Fi movies if you have to but we've got to get that thing down. Until we've got that sorted out I want the Air Force to concentrate on this sector," he pointed on the map, "and destroy anything coming off those bridges," he shifted focus to his Air Force liaison officer. "Slow the flow. There's only two ways they can get off that island so let's stop them before they can deploy. I want planes flying continuous sorties to keep the squids bottled in. All right, all of you, stay on this."

The staff officers began to walk away, heads slumped and forlorn. The General looked around the headquarters and could sense the dejection. What only a day before had been a hive of optimistic activity now carried the stench of defeat.

"Everyone, listen up," Daily's voice boomed across the room gaining everyone's attention. "You've all done a great job with this. I'm proud of you. Yes, we've taken some hits but if you all hadn't been tuned in this would have been way worse. Everyone," he said pointedly, "has made a difference here. I know it looks bad but we've been in this place before and we'll come back. We'll regroup then we'll take the fight to these bastards because that's what we do. No one attacks America and walks away from it, hooah?"

"HOOAH!" the room erupted in response to the encouragement.

"All right then. Stay at it. I want ideas. I don't care how stupid they sound or about your rank. We're in this together. No let's get it done."

The tone in the room shifted and people began to work with renewed vigor. Daily was proud of his people but he also knew there was only so much he could get out of them and the troops in the field. He needed help and he needed it now.

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

"So the squids'll use this firepower to their advantage," Mike explained the alien weapon systems to the NCO's arrayed around him, "their tactics show that. They're pretty linear but effective. That also makes them predictable."

Mike was taking a new group of Sergeants and Warrant Officers through their pre-deployment training and so far it had gone well. They were in a partially destroyed part of the suburbs that had been turned into a training facility to prep the troops for deployment for urban combat.

"So let's do a walk-through to see what it looks like. Then…," his voice trailed off as an unexpected Humvee came roared up to the group.

An Army Captain hopped out before it stopped and yelled, "Orders for CALCOMM. You all need to report back to your units immediately. The aliens have launched a new offensive and we need all troops on the line right now. All training is cancelled, you'll be deploying to the front as soon as your units are assembled. Now move." He then jumped back in the idling vehicle which sped off to the next group to relay the orders from the Commander of all forces in California.

The soldiers scrambled to get back to their companies as quickly as they could without any words being exchanged. In less then two minutes Mike was by himself, consciously aware of how alone he was. It reminded him of how he'd felt in August when the training he'd been leading had been cut short. The same feeling of hopelessness he'd felt back then began to creep in again.

The training company office was not its usual hive of activity. People sat at desks or on tables wondering what to do. With all the soldiers who'd been going through training pulled away there was suddenly nothing to do but shuffle papers. The early reports of the losses at the front made that an undesirable activity. Mike seethed as he sat inactive. He'd finally felt like he was getting into a rhythm and now the rug was pulled out from underneath him again.

"Listen up," LCol Wingate called, getting everyone's attention. "With the alien offensive training operations have been suspended until further notice. With the push to get everything to the front you're being reassigned to the supply and logistics group. Once things settle down we can resume our operations here but until that point," the balding officer paused for a moment as if wondering if that would happen again," that's where you're needed. Tie things off here and be ready to move within 90 minutes."

Everyone sat stunned at the news, trying to process the depth of what was happening. Wingate saw this and awkwardly concluded, "Guys, you've done a great job here. I'm really proud of you all. This may not be what you want but you can still contribute there. Give it your best."

Mike waited for the people in the unit to start robotically following the order before he approached his commanding officer. "Sir, I don't want to go and count MRE's. I want back in combat."

"We've been over this before Gunny," Wingate replied in exasperation. "That's not going to happen."

"Yea, but the situation is different now. I want a combat assignment sir, not to be some log wog! They need people who know what they're doing at the front."

The personnel executive Reservist opened his mouth as if to rebut the comment but instead stayed silent, pondering the request. "You're right. That's a waste of your talents."

"Then you'll assign me to a combat unit heading to the front?"

"I can't do that, Gunny," Wingate answered, avoiding eye contact.

"Why not? You're my CO." Mike testily declared.

"Because you're outside my control, Mike. Anything to do with you has to go through General Daily's staff," Wingate replied. Then seeing the anxious look on the Marine's face he continued, "Go see him. It's the right thing to do."

"Thank you sir, I appreciate this," Mike shook Wingate's hand. "You're a good officer. I'm glad to have worked with you." Yet again Mike was impressed by the unusual officer.

"Good luck Gunny. You're a good man. Don't ever forget that in all this crap," the perceptive IBM executive responded intuitively. "I look forward to hearing what you do with yourself. And hey, if we survive all this and you ever need a job, look me up."

Mike was buoyed by the brief conversation, eager to get into the action and contribute. He walked quickly over to the headquarters building to get a new assignment. He'd love to return to the 2-5 but at this point he'd be happy with an M16 and a squad leader's role in the North Dakota National Guard.

Approaching the single story building he noticed an increased guard and a pair of M6 Bradley Linebacker Anti-Aircraft weapons scanning the sky. Entering the building he was stopped by an orderly in the vestibule.

"What can I do for you Gunny?" a female Army Sergeant First Class asked tersely.

"I'm Gunnery Sergeant Nantz. I need to speak to General Daily," Mike answered, watching the frenzy of activity within the headquarters.

"I know who you are," the graying NCO snapped back. "He's busy right now. What do you need to see him about?"

"Well…I need him to change my assignment. I want to be posted to a combat unit at the front," Mike responded awkwardly to the challenge.

"I see," the Sergeant responded unimpressed. Wait here."

Mike stood shuffling back and forth as people came and went for a half hour before the Army Sergeant returned. "Sorry Nantz. It's a no-go on the reassignment. You're to stay in a support role and in the rear area."

"But…come on," Mike protested.

"Listen," the Sergeant interjected, "we don't have time for this stuff, get in1? We're fighting a war and don't have time for your personal thoughts. Carry on and do your job."

The Marine shuffled out of the building as everyone around him ignored him. _Do my job_, he thought, _that's what I want to do! Why won't they let me?_ He began to feel like some trophy dog. Sure, they'd take his picture, run his face on TV as a big hero and role model but they wouldn't let him do what he'd been trained to do; what he wanted to do. Frustration built into anger as he walked away disgusted with the system that seemed to be grinding the life out of him.

Leaving the building he watched the frenzy of activity as soldiers jogged in formation towards the air field and truck after truck rumbled down the road loaded with supplies for the front. A pair of A-10 Thunderbolts roared overhead. It was a scene guaranteed to get the adrenaline flowing. That is for anyone doing anything. For Mike it only made him feel more frustrated and useless.

"Hi Mike."

He heard a familiar voice purr his name. Mike turned to see Libby standing a few feet away from him. She wore a tight black corset-style club dress that came down to just past the top of her thighs. The thin strap holding it up seemed to strain to hold her breasts in that stood mounded at the top. Ruffles at the hemline gave it a playful look but the look in the attractive nurse's eyes was anything but playful. She stood in patent black stiletto heels with a hand provocatively on her hip.

Mike not only forgot what he'd been raging about a moment before but his own birthday at the stunning sight.

"You look like a man who needs a drink," Libby declared with anticipation, knowing she'd caught his eye.

Mike looked around at everyone seeming to be going somewhere or doing something but him. Then he looked back at the inviting sight before him. _Screw them_, he thought. _Let someone else count combat boots. They won't miss me._

"Yea, that sounds good," he answered belligerently. "Let's go."


	35. Chapter 35 Times running out

**Chapter 35 Times running out**

**The Pentagon, Washington DC**

The analyst looked at the series of photos that had been relayed from the Hubble Telescope and then looked again. A chill of disbelief flooded over the young woman who had joined up after 9/11, passing up a chance to work for the Rand Corporation to serve her country. "Sir, you better see this," she called out to her section head.

"What is it Captain Dutton?" Colonel Osprey McLynn asked, coming over to her cubicle. "Have you figured out how the aliens reinforced themselves?"

"Yes sir, I did," she confirmed. "It seems they were tucked into a comet cloud and dropped in as it passed earth. The thing with this one though is it may have been mechanically produced to shield them."

"Like a smoke screen?"

"Kind of."

"And we missed it?"

"Well yes, we did," she confirmed a bit testily. "But we weren't really looking for anything like that if you remember. Plus our access to the satellites was spotty. NSA has been a bit stingy at giving access. Apparently there are a lot of people interested in satellite taskings."

"Politics," McLynn spat out in disgust. "Even in war we still have to deal with this crap. We're the ones who're supposed to watch space and we're not given the resources we need."

"Part of it too was we were spending our time looking down at the earth and not out to space which I guess makes sense," Dutton reflected, trying to shift her boss' attention from what should be to what was. "Anyway that's not really important because I think I've found something pretty big."

"Okay, what have you got?" the Colonel asked, his curiosity rising.

"I was able to get access to the Hubble Telescope's recent captures. I figured if another group came after the initial invasion we might want to see if there are any more."

"Makes sense."

"It's a bit like trying to find a needle in a haystack but I found something. Take a look at this," Dutton declared, pointing to some satellite photos she pulled out.

The Colonel adjusted his glasses and looked at the images she spread out on her desk. "Okay?" he said, not sure where to look.

"Look at this," Dutton circled a cluster with a grease pencil. "What does this remind you of?"

The electrical engineer officer suddenly caught the drift. "My god. Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes, the same type of meteor clusters that the initial invasion came in." She pulled some other photos out to lay them beside. "These are images and scans that we got back in August when they first hit us. Now they're taken closer then these ones but are bang on. There's also another thing."

"What's that?" McLynn asked, feeling his pulse quickening.

"I've calculated their size based on distance away compared to the first ones and they're bigger."

"You're sure?"

"Positive," Dutton nodded her head for emphasis.

"Where are they coming from?" the section head responded, still not wanting to believe what he was being told.

"This is the Epsilon Eridani region of space sir," Dutton answered.

"How soon until they get here?"

"I'll need some more time-lapsed data from the Hubble to know for sure but my rough guess at this point is 12 to 14 days."

"12 to 14….," McLynn's voice trailed off as the severity of what he'd been told sunk in. Then his head snapped towards a waiting orderly. "Get the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs on the phone. This is a priority one. We need to show this to him right away. Get your stuff together Captain. We're going to the White House."

**Area Command Headquarters, Los Angeles Theatre of Operations**

"Everyone, stop what you're doing and gather around right now," General Daily ordered tersely, holding a copy of the message he'd just received from Washington. Scanning the gathered group who looked at him curiously he asked, "Where's Captain Blatchford?"

"I'm not sure sir, I think she left the headquarters a few hours ago," the duty officer answered.

"All right then," he responded in irritation, "this can't wait. We've received a flash message from General Dempsey and the Joint Chiefs. In fact this has gone out around the world. The Hubble Telescope has spotted massive alien movement heading towards earth from outer space." He allowed the sobering news to sink in.

The room became even quieter then it had been before. No one moved or even shuffled, it was as if everyone had the breath sucked out of them by the news.

"What…what does that mean sir?" an Army Lieutenant working in communications asked.

"The Chiefs are not exactly sure son. It could either be more reinforcements or it could be civilians coming to colonize. But this we know: it's a bigger group then came last summer. Neither option has much optimism to it. This is likely why they've counterattacked- to push out in preparation for this arrival. Washington figures the squids will be here in somewhere around two weeks."

"Two weeks?" a Logistics Major gasped involuntarily.

"Does Washington know how they reinforced at least?" an Army First Sergeant asked.

"Yes, they figured out they came hidden in a fake comet trail. They've scanned around to make sure they're aren't any other surprises…"

"Besides this one sir," the Sergeant cut in grimly.

Daily didn't allow the interruption to bother him. He understood what the troops must be feeling right now since he shared it with them. "Yes, besides the bomb I just dropped on you Sergeant. So we know what we're up against and yes, the clock is ticking." Then with grim determination he declared, "I want all section heads to meet in 15 minutes. We need to begin to plan for this new element since you can be sure a chunk of this group will be coming here. And someone find Captain Blatchford, I need to talk to her."

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

It was after 9pm when Michele finally finished at the hospital. The day had been a nightmare with casualties non-stop. She'd thought her experiences with the war thus far had hardened her to this type of thing but the volume, severity and misery of the wounded and dying had taken her nearly to the breaking point.

In some ways the experience had been comforting to the woman since she'd begun to fear that she was losing her compassion in all of this. Coupled with her personal troubles she feared what she was becoming. This reminded her she did care and still felt. The tears streaming down her face as she left the building bore testimony to that.

"Michele, I need to talk to you about something."

She heard Kelly calling out to her and turned to see the nurse standing in the doorway motioning her back.

"Today was pretty hard Kelly. I'd like some time alone if that's okay."

"Sure, I know. We all do but this is kind of time sensitive," Kelly responded with a grim look on her face.

"Okay, so what's up?" Michele asked curiously, knowing the nurse to not be alarmist.

"Libby's out with Mike."

"What? Now? How could that happen with everything going on?" Michele shot back in surprise. "That's not possible…you have to be wrong."

"No, it's true."

"How do you know?" Michele asked, still not willing to believe the report.

"Because I told her so," another nurse named Rosa that Michele recognized as part of Libby's group declared, stepping into the conversation.

"So what happened?" Michele inquired, suddenly coming out of her fog.

"She'd planned to go see Mike today," Rosa reported. "She'd brought her clothes, shoes, everything in and planned to kind of 'bump into him'."

"But how did she get away with everything going on?" Michele asked, still wary of believing this could happen. "Everyone was supposed to be on duty." But then she thought back and couldn't recall seeing the dynamic nurse all day.

"She said she wasn't feeling well so left," Rosa answered, a sour look on her face.

Michele didn't want to believe it but knowing the self-centered woman she had too. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked, wondering at the motivation of one who was intimate with the woman in question.

"I don't think it was right to skip off like that with all these casualties. It was such a hard day…seeing all those wounded men and stuff…" Emotion was thick on her voice and her eyes began to well up. Rosa paused for a moment to collect herself before continuing to speak. "So it got me thinking, maybe what she's doing with Mike isn't right either. She likes to spotlight, likes to have attention. I'm not sure she's good for him. But I've watched you Michele. I've watched you with the wounded and watched you with people. You're different then her, you're a good person. So I wanted you to know."

Michele was deeply touched by the admission and for how she was viewed. Her heart leapt that perhaps what she was doing made a difference after all. That it did count. "Thank you Rosa, that means a lot."

"So what are you going to do?" Kelly asked.

Michele allowed herself to linger on the glow of what Rosa had said before the grim reality of what she'd been told about Libby settled in. The warm glow seemed to ignite a spark. "Where would they go?"

"There's a club Libby likes, it's called Inferno. She'd go there," Rosa replied.

The spark lit into its own inferno. Despite fatigue and weariness from the day, her senses were alive and she knew what she had to do. She wouldn't give up without a fight. "Tell me how to get there," she demanded with a steely voice.

**Area Command Headquarters, Los Angeles Theatre of Operations**

"Sir, Captain Blatchford's here," on orderly called out to the commanding officer reporting the arrival of the Army intelligence officer as he'd ordered. It was nearly 11pm and the Marine General had been preparing to leave to get a few hours of sleep.

Spotting the woman walking in with tossled hair he charged over demanding, "Where the hell have you been? You've been gone for hours and I need your assessment."

"That's what I've been doing General. I took a recce of the shield," she answered calmly, not intimidated by the imposing African American Marine.

"You did WHAT?" Daily exploded in disbelief.

"I know you needed a good assessment of what we're up against and video and photos from the drones just weren't cutting it. So I talked a Pave Low crew from the 20th Special Ops squadron that had come back from a SAR flight into taking me to see it for myself," she reported with a slight look of amusement on her face.

"That's crazy. You could've gotten yourself killed," Daily raged but in growing admiration.

"A good reporter goes to the source of information," she responded, nonplussed.

"A good…," Daily shook his head in disbelief but then looked anew at the plain-featured woman who had just risked her life going deep behind enemy lines to get him information. "Okay, so what did you find?"

"Quite a bit which I think you'll find interesting," she adjusted her wire glasses. "First off, they have all their forces concentrated along the front. It actually wasn't as hard to get there as you might have thought. We stayed a mile behind the Santa Monica Freeway until we got to the Pacific then followed the coast line then hooked around Redondo Beach back inland. We came in low and hard, figuring we might get a pass or two if we were lucky."

A number of other headquarters personnel had drifted over to hear the story as word got around about what the reporter-turned-intelligence officer had done.

"But there was virtually nothing there General," Blatchford continued. "Other then some light patrols there was nothing else or to the front. Terminal Island is virtually empty."

"But what about all those big ships we saw on the drone images and other troops?"

"They've been moved up. I suspect they fast-tracked them due to the Air Force sorties. I saw a fair amount of wreckage just off the bridges but there's not a lot there."

"That's good to know," Daily stated, relieved by the information. "I think we can hold what they've got then. But you may not have heard: the squids have reinforcements coming."

"I did hear," Blatchford confirmed. "That's one of the reasons I went to see this shield for myself."

"What?" the Marine General choked. "And you didn't think to tell me you were doing this?"

"And would you have let me if I did?" the intelligence officer asked coyly.

Several soldiers listening in the on the conversation chuckled involuntarily at the cheeky statement receiving a glare from the General but he didn't say anything.

"So what about the shield? Did you learn anything useful about it?"

"Yes, I learned we can pass through it," Blatchford stated calmly.

Daily did a double-take. "And how did you find that out?"

"I walked through it myself."

"Don't tell me you…" his voice trailed off in disbelief, not wanting to hear the answer.

"Since there really were no squids around I thought I could take a quick peak," Blatchford confirmed the incredible story. "We've seen them go back and forth so I thought why not us? So I convinced my pilot to drop down and give me ten minutes to check it out. He gave me five, which irked me a bit, but that was all I needed. I could pass through unobstructed. You can see it when you're there. There's a faint glow but it looks like an umbrella or maybe a mushroom would be a better explanation. A beam of light shoots up and then disburses into the shield. So there's nothing at ground level."

"This is incredible. We have the best special ops teams in the world and it takes a reporter to get us the information we need," General Daily mused incredulously. "You deserve a medal for this."

"I don't want a medal," she shot back harshly. "I want these bastards dead and I think I have a plan to do it."

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

Michele saw the red neon sign glowing the name: 'Inferno'. When she'd left the hospital she'd been hot for a confrontation, to put Libby in her place and once and for all let Mike know where she stood. But now, standing outside the club Michele wasn't so sure. She could hear the deep bass beat of techno dance music playing and suddenly felt like she was about to enter enemy territory. Libby had prepared, had dressed for the occasion whereas she had come from the hospital in comfortable clothes and her hair pulled back.

_Came I compete? Should I even try? _

Then a thought hit her like lightning. This is what it has been like for Mike going into combat against a dangerous enemy and he never shied away. Suddenly she began to understand something about his character and courage as the same fear and hesitation he must feel each time threatened to handcuff her.

The dark haired woman mused about that for a few moments, chewing on the thought and what it meant. He went into combat because he cared. She cared too so would overcome this fear.

Resolutely she strode forward, pushing the door open and entering into the club.

It took Michele's eyes a few minutes to adjust to the bright pulsing lights and ears to accept the loud sound assaulting it. Why Mike would ever come to a place like this was beyond her and a moment of disgust overcame her sensibilities.

Then she saw Libby and knew why.

Or more correctly, she saw Libby in a form-fitting black dress and stiletto heels clinging to Mike on the dance floor. While his movement was automatic, almost like he was on a parade square, she gyrated and contorted around his body like a snake, writhing with an ecstatic look on her face.

_Is this what he wants in a woman?_ She wondered to herself in disgust. _Because that's not me. If that's what he wants maybe I'm wrong about him._

Michele stood transfixed in the shadows of the club watching this spectacle for ten minutes. Several times she was jostled by anxious patrons but never propositioned. She felt quite alone as she watched the connected pair moving to the rhythm.

"What's the point?" Michele said to herself though no one heard. "I'm wasting my time."

She turned to walk away and then everything hit her at once like a data upload from the _Matrix._ She had felt like she was going into combat LIKE MIKE and yet Mike was not in combat and didn't appear like he was going there anytime soon despite the fact that nearly every healthy soldier who could had been moved to the front to stem the new alien offensive.

Except Gunnery Sergeant Mike Nantz.

The thought hung there for a moment and then she cursed herself for being so foolish to miss it. He was out of his element. This was not his world and maybe, just maybe, he wanted to be rescued from it.

She had to find out, one way or the other. Steeling her nerves, she turned and pushed her way through the crowd to the pair who still danced blissfully unaware on the dance floor.


	36. Chapter 36 Choices

**Chapter 36 – Choices**

**Area Command Headquarters, Los Angeles Theatre of Operations**

"So you have a plan?" one of the area operations officers responded to Captain Blatchford's declaration skeptically.

"Yes Major Cramner as a matter of fact I do," she shot back, not giving any ground.

"So now you're a tactics expert too," the Army officer retorted. "Sir," he turned to General Daily, ignoring the Reserve officer, "no disrespect to Ms. Blatchford but that's not her role. She's a newspaper reporter. The Ops group will take the intel she's brought back and have a working solution for you within 24 hours."

Daily watched the career officer huff at the confident female Captain. "You know what Major?" he responded evenly but firmly, "this reporter has given us solid intel right from the start. And now to boot she goes and does a recce of the site on her own. I think she deserves to be heard and I for one would like to hear her plan."

Blatchford beamed appreciatively to the commanding officer but also smirked obviously at the perturbed staff officer. "Thanks for the vote of confidence sir. It's really quite simple. The squids have reinforcements coming so we have to get them before they get us. We need to break their line, deny them a fallback point and eliminate their ability to reinforce."

"Oh that's brilliant!" Cramner snorted sarcastically. "It's just that simple huh? Break the line, deny reinforcements. Do you know how hard that would be?"

"Go on Captain," Daily ignored the tantrum of the Major. "Let me hear how you plan to do that."

"I know it won't be simple," she shot back to Major Cramner, but then to General Daily continued, "they're thick at the front and have a small reserve. I've seen it and we can confirm this both by drone flyovers and satellites. We also know they've reinforced through Terminal Island. But they've concentrated everything there. I've checked, they don't have any other staging areas and very little held back. Everything has been thrown into this offensive."

"Yea, because they have a shield over top of it and we can't hit them," Cramner pointed out, "or did you forget that?"

"Major, stop interrupting," Daily cut the man off threateningly. "I want to hear what she has to say. Keep going Captain because I know you're heading somewhere."

"I am," Blatchford confirmed, furrowing her brow. "If we could break their line they'd fall back all the way to the Island I believe. That's been their tactic thus far when pressed: consolidate in a position of strength."

"Okay, but they fall back and then what? They reinforce and push out again like just happened," the General mused.

"That's just it. This time we deny them the opportunity to fall back. WE cut off their safe haven."

"You don't mean…,"

"I do. We drop troops behind enemy lines as the main assault commences and hold the two bridges denying them the opportunity to fall back to their shield. We set up several kill boxes out front and pound the crap out of it when they get there," Blatchford declared with a grim look on her face.

"It's risky for the troops at the bridge," Daily pointed out.

"True," the Captain agreed readily. "They'd need to hold until the main attack can get to them but I bet they'd only need to do it for a few hours."

"You ever see the movie 'A Bridge Too Far'? Ever study the World War 2 campaign at Arnhem? Its suicide," Cramner countered fiercely.

"It's a calculated risk," Blatchford countered. "Sir, we can't sit back and we can't afford to trade blows with them anymore. Times running out. We need a bold stroke and this could be it."

All eyes turned to General Daily who was obviously mulling the idea over. He folded his hands behind his back, deep in thought, as if playing it out in his mind. "What about the shield?" he asked, showing the plan had captured his attention.

"While the main force holds the bridges Special Ops teams would move across onto the Island to find and destroy the generator. It'll be guarded but I would suspect the force would be manageable."

"Hmm…it might just work," Daily mused.

"Sir, this is crazy," Cramner pressed doggedly. "Even if this was viable, which I still don't think it is tactically, we don't have the manpower for a thrust that'll break their line let alone troops to drop behind lines."

"It shouldn't take more then a battalion to hold sir," Blatchford added trying to catch the man's eye. "We have the airlift capacity between the Ospreys and Blackhawks here to drop them in."

She saw Cranmer open his mouth to rebut but cut him off. "I checked to make sure. We have just enough operational to do it."

Daily took several paces away from the two officers who glared at each other. The remaining staff gave the man his distance knowing the weight of decision on his shoulders. The Marine officer rubbed his eyes then looked up at the ceiling as if saying a silent prayer. He nodded his head as if he'd made a decision.

"Okay, I like it," Daily held up a hand to silence the coming protest of Major Cramner. "Its risky but we don't have time to pussy foot around. Its time to go for the end zone. Captain Blatchford, I want you to co-ord this idea with the ops team and come up with a working plan. You've painted a good picture but I want to see some flesh on those bones. I want to see timelines, troop movements, logistics, C and C, all of it and I want it in 12 hours. Got it?"

"Yes sir!" Captain Blatchford agreed, beaming.

"But what about the troops we need?" Major Cramner asked, knowing he'd been defeated. "Even if we put the plan together we don't have the manpower and we're desperately short of armor support after the alien's attack to pull this off."

"You leave that to me. I'll get us troops even if I have to go to Washington and kick some Pentagon arse myself. You get me that plan in 12 hours, I'll take care of the rest but first I need to get some sleep."

For the first time since the surprise alien counter-attack Daily felt like he could allow himself that luxury.

**The Inferno, Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

Michele pushed her way through the pulsating crowd at The Inferno moving steadily towards the dancing pair who were unaware of the coming confrontation. There was no doubt or hesitation in her mind. She was a warrior on a rescue mission, not the timid, scared woman who had walked into the hedonistic place. Though her heart raced in anticipation of what was to come she stayed calm.

Michele had no clue what would happen; he could laugh at her for coming, or worse, declare once and for all he no longer cared about her. She could be humiliated and left alone in this place but that didn't stop her. She had faith, as crazy as it seemed that some force was rooting for them in the Heavenlies and in the end it would work out.

Libby spotted her first. The nurse's eyes bugged out in shock and her body tensed up involuntarily which Mike felt.

"What's the matter?" he asked, picking it up despite the fog of alcohol on his brain.

"Nothing," she responded tersely, her mind already starting to work. The clever woman knew this to be a threat so needed to respond accordingly.

Then Mike spotted Michele coming through the crowd towards them, a determined look clearly etched on her expressive face.

The pair spontaneously stopped dancing despite the others gyrating around them, waiting for the arrival of this unexpected visitor.

Michele spoke but the loud music drowned her out so what she said couldn't be heard. She adjusted to speak again but Libby beat her to the punch.

"Hey Michele, how're you doing?" she greeted the woman in a friendly tone at the same time pulling herself closer into Mike, resting her head on his chest. "I'm surprised to see you here. I didn't think this was the kind of place you and Guy," she emphasized, "would hang out."

Michele ignored the jab of the catty nurse, speaking to Mike instead. "Trust me, it's not. I came to see Mike." She paused, allowing the declaration to sink in. But before Libby could respond she added, "and let me make one thing perfectly clear to both of you: Dr. Chevreau and I are not a couple."

"Really?" he responded in hazy surprise. His mind though began to put the pieces together. "And you came to see me? Why?" Then his mind seemed to shift. "Hey, would you like to dance?"

"What?" Libby shot back in surprised outrage pulling back to glare at the man.

"Sure, why not? We've been dancing the whole time, maybe she'd like to."

Michele couldn't help but chuckle. Despite the fury she felt at seeing him here and with this woman, the boyish look on his face touched her heart. "Maybe. But that's not why I'm here. I wanted to see if you were okay. I thought that maybe with everything going on in the war and you still being here away from the front you might be feeling bad or maybe left out and unappreciated. I just wanted to see if you were okay and if there was anything I could do to help."

"You?" Libby snorted. "He's fine and he's with me," she emphasized, rubbing his chest with her red painted nails.

"I think that's for him to decide, not you," Michele retorted, standing her ground. As much as Libby infuriated her and seeing Mike allowing this woman to hang all over him angered her, something stronger then that was at work. While part of her screamed to ditch the guy another part began to grow, a part that was seeing this differently. Mike was lost, like a man without a compass, and he needed to be found. He'd spent his whole life trying to help other people in need now he was the one in need even if he didn't acknowledge it. No, she was seeing things with new eyes, eyes of revelation, which gave her a strength and resolve she'd been seeking her whole life but have never attained. It seemed as if she had finally gone through that intersection of life and now was on the right road.

And she knew she wanted to share that road with Mike Nantz.

"Well I think its pretty clear who he's chosen," Libby hissed, intertwining her body around his even more.

"Has he?" Michele responded coolly. "Why don't you let him go and see?" Then she turned to the man she hoped to spend the rest of her life with and told him, "Mike, I care about you, I love you. I've not shown that and I've not been there when you've needed me. I'm so sorry." She paused to allow the apology to sink in before continuing. "I've been afraid to let myself go and fully commit but if you'd give me a chance I'll be with you the whole way from now on."

Libby smirked at the bold and vulnerable declaration while continuing to rub Mike's chest as he stood seemingly transfixed. "Nice speech. Are you done now so we can get back to having fun? No one wants you around."

"You don't have to settle for this," Michele declared, "you can have so much more."

"Why you little slut!" Libby huffed.

"Me?" Michele shot back. "I'm not the one who looks like they should be on a street corner."

Libby's eye's bulged in rage. Swiftly she uncoiled herself from Mike while balling her fist and threw a punch at Michele's face. The woman recoiled from the coming blow but couldn't get out of the way.

Quick as a flash Mike's hand shot out and he caught Libby's punch in mid-swing. "Don't do that," he said in a commanding tone holding her hand fast as the nurse venomously glared at both of them.

Michele felt her heart sing. He'd come to her defense. There was only one more thing to do. "Listen, I'm going to leave because I don't want to cause more of a scene. But Mike, I want you to know how much I care despite some of the things you may have heard about me. I will admit I was confused for a bit but I'm not anymore. There's no one else in my life and I'd like to be in yours if you'll allow me."

She turned and walked away, melting into the crowd. Still holding Libby's fist Mike stared in disbelief while the enraged nurse unintelligibly called something out that was lost in the noise of the club.

Then Michele was gone and the remaining pair turned to look at each other.

**Defensive line, Alhambra, near the Santa Monika Freeway**

The Marines had fought off another aggressive alien attack. They'd been doing this all day but finally had a respite. The drones who had initially caused a lot of damage had finally been countered and pushed back beyond their line which the soldiers holding the human position was told was only about a half mile away. Things were quiet for the first time in hours. But they knew it wouldn't last. After nearly two months of seemingly half-hearted effort the aliens had not only been reinforced but reinvigorated in their campaign.

For the Marines of the 2nd Battalion 5th Regiment it couldn't have come at a worse time. They had finally been rotated off of the front line after fighting nearly for the whole war. They'd only had three days away, just enough to relax and let down their guard. The unit had lost nearly half its men over the course of the campaign so replacements had started to be slotted in but had yet to be integrated. That would have been fine if they'd been allowed the promised month off. But then the squids attacked and everyone, including the 2-5, had been rushed to the newly-formed defensive line.

The soldiers of Lt. Gordon's platoon of E Company found themselves holding a position guarding the I10's South Atlantic Boulevard off-ramp over to South 9th Street.

At this hour of the day the streetlights would have been coming on, kids would be getting called in for bed and people would be settling in for the night after another busy day of carrying on with life.

But not any more.

It had been months since this neighborhood had been abandoned. There was no power for streetlights and no one around to enjoy the calm of night. No one other then the Marines and they were far from calm for they knew night brought increased risk.

Lockett and Imlay slumped down in their improvised shelter at a cabana of a home's pool about 50 yards back from the main defensive line to tear into a couple of MRE's. They'd checked their troops to make sure they had good cover and understood their arcs of engagement before finally getting a breather.

"Everything square here?" Ollie Horton, their new platoon Sergeant asked as he trotted up the driveway past an abandoned sports car still covered with a blue tarp. The Reservist from the 14th Marine Regiment out of Spokane Washington had just been moved up after the recent alien surge.

"You should stay low Sarge, kind of bob and weave as you move in the open," Lockett suggested as the replacement came into their position. "Don't move in a straight line. Even though the Squids have pulled back they usually keep a few back looking for targets."

"Thanks," Horton responded, appreciative of the suggestion. "You sound like Gunny Nantz when he was prepping us for the front. I never thought there'd be so much more to learn and I've been to Iraq and Afghanistan."

"Aw, don't worry about it Sarge, you'll get it," Lockett encouraged him.

Gunny Nantz?" Imlay asked, picking up on the name. "You don't mean Mike Nantz do you?"

"Yea, he was our training Sergeant before we moved to the front."

"Mike Nantz?" Imlay confirmed.

"Yes and he did a great job too. But it was a crash course so I'm still trying to process everything," Horton confessed.

"What's he doing in the rear area?" Lockett asked. "I thought he was with G Company. And when did he get promoted?"

"I don't know about any of that," Horton responded, a bit confused. "He was heading up a training unit prepping NCO's for the front."

"Wow, I can't believe they took him out of the fight." Imlay shook his head sadly in disbelief.

"That's got to be hard," Lockett agreed. "Give the guy a promotion and then keep him from doing the very thing that got him promoted. That would suck."

"Right on brother," Imlay added.

"Sorry, I don't get what you mean," Horton confessed, not on the same page. "Anyway, you guys good up here?"

"Yea, we're good Sarge," Lockett replied, dipping his spoon into the container of chili and macaroni he'd chosen to eat, "good lines and good fields of fire. The guys'll hold as long as need be."

"We could use a resupply though," Imlay added. "I'd like us to overstock on grenade rounds for the M203's plus extra boxes of ammo for the SAW. If we get into a firefight like today I want to make sure we can keep up the heat."

"Make's sense," Horton agreed. "I'll take care of it. All right, get some rest but stay alert." The Sergeant prepared to move to the next position.

"Thanks Sarge," Imlay said. "I'm glad you're with us."

Horton stopped. "What do you mean?"

"Well..," Imlay suddenly felt awkward so stopped what he was going to say.

"What do you mean Corporal?" the Reservist demanded.

"We've had some troubles getting a new platoon Sergeant," Lockett explained. "So it's nice to have you here. We think you're doing a great job."

"Thanks. But why the trouble?" Horton asked. "Lt. Gordon seems like a good officer."

"He is," Imlay confirmed. "It's just we've seen a lot of combat and have lost a few platoon senior NCO's so it seems like guys have been avoiding us."

"Really, so you're the ones," Horton replied a bit nervously. "I didn't know that." Then he shook his head as if trying to get rid of growing fear. Then getting back on track he changed the subject, "That's a load of crap. It's just an old wives tale…doesn't mean anything. Anyway, take it…"

A familiar whistling sound filled the air.

"RPG!" Imlay screamed. "Find cover!"

The pair and the others around them scrambled but the new Sergeant froze for a moment, unsure where to go. Too late he tried to dive to the side. The alien grenade landed a short distance from the man and exploded on impact shredding his body.


	37. Chapter 37 Going Deeper

**Ch.37 Going Deeper**

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

It had taken Father Alexander a few days to find the information he sought but it had been worth it. Though Child Protection Services still existed on paper the reality was with Los Angeles still under military authority that had become the avenue of enforcement. Those social workers left from the county department had been working solely thus far of trying to reunite families or find places for the hundreds of children orphaned in the war.

The priest had also found out that a number of clergy had been seconded to the agency to help out with the effort of restoration. It seemed that bureaucracy had given way to practicality. Of course bureaucracy still ruled, even in a war, and so it had taken him several meetings to find all this information out. Records were spotty and so much was being re-created. But finally the priest had found a willing, and sympathetic ear, to discuss what was going on with Hector.

The middle-aged female social worker's dull expression had darkened when she'd heard of the alleged abuse of the orphan. The woman gave him some contacts in the 185th Military Police Battalion which had been helping her team and in the end he'd been deputized to work as an adjunct of the agency. In fact the woman had been eager to have his offered help since they were so swamped. His first assignment then was to investigate the report about Hector Rincon and his aunt Maria. The place they lived was easier to find then working through the bureaucracy of the LA Child Protection Services so he'd been able to find their small home with a minimum of effort.

The priest had decided on the direct approach so went mid-morning to the home to talk to the woman and Hector. He knocked on the door and a severe-faced Latino woman with her hair pulled back in a tight bun answered the door.

"Si, what do you want?" she asked sharply but then her eyes adjusted to the morning sun streaming through the open door to see the priest standing before her. "Oh, Padre, forgive me. Are you here to bless my home?" she asked.

"No, my name is Father Alexander McNair and actually I'm here to talk to you about Hector," he responded. "May I come in?"

"No, you cannot," she responded, the edge returning to her voice. "We are very busy. Perhaps another time.

"I must insist on speaking to you and I'd also like to see him as well," the priest pressed. "I'm not here representing the church but rather as an agent of Los Angeles County Child Services."

"What is this about?" the woman stood belligerently blocking the doorway, her voice rising.

"I think it would be best if we talked inside," he gestured with his head towards several neighbors who were taking an interest in the conversation. "But we will talk about this, one way or the other."

"Si, very well," she said with a tone of resignation, stepping aside to allow the priest to enter.

They went into a sparsely furnished but clean living room. The observant man scanned the room and noticed no family pictures or any other signs of family connections. Other then a large wooden crucifix hanging on the wall there were no decorations.

Father Alexander tried to make small talk to break the ice but the woman was tight lipped so he decided to get straight to the point. "Ma'am, I'm here to ensure the welfare of Hector and make sure he's being properly looked after. There have been allegations that perhaps things are not going well here."

"That is nonsense! Who would say such lies?" she demanded. "I am his aunt, his only family. I know what's best for him, no one else. Who is saying these things?"

"That doesn't really matter. What matters is the welfare of the boy. So is there any other of his family members in the area that you know of?"

"No, I am his aunt," she emphasized though strangely, "and there is no one else interested in looking after the boy."

"And you make him work?" the priest began to probe.

"Si, work is good for boys. He needs to help provide," she shot back.

"Yet you're living in a military refugee camp," Alexander replied. "Most of your needs are being provided already. What could a boy his age possibly contribute?"

"That is my business, Father, not yours. I am his relation."

Though he found the woman abrasive there was something evasive in her, something she seemed to be hiding, so he decided to play a hunch. "Ma'am, can you tell me the exact nature of your relationship with Hector's father."

"What do you mean by that?" she huffed, "I am his aunt."

"So Joe Rincon was your blood brother?" She saw the woman's eyes flare in fear.

"Well, yes, of course, he was," she responded but without the same bluster previously.

"And can you prove this?" the priest pressed in, beginning to become more suspicious.

"We...we were brother and sister by marriage," she stammered, "in a manner of speaking."

"What exactly do you mean by 'in a manner of speaking'? And don't lie to a priest," he pressed, becoming exasperated by the woman.

"My mother and his father were never formally married," she crossed herself as she turned red with embarrassment.

"Thank you for sharing that," he affirmed but mentally noted she used the last name Rincon. "I'd like to talk to Hector now if I could."

"You can't…he's…he's not here."

A sound of movement in the kitchen betrayed the lie she'd just told.

"Then you won't mind if I see for myself." Father Alexander moved for the door before the woman could block his way. Passing through he found a Latino boy he knew immediately to be the one he sought.

"Hello Hector," the priest greeted the lad.

"Who are you?" Hector asked, a bit frightened when he saw his aunt appear over the man's shoulder.

"A friend. Someone you can talk to. My name is Alexander McNair."

"I know you! You're Gunny Nantz's friend."

"You're right." Then looking at the boy's aunt he said firmly, "I want to talk to him alone. You can wait for me in the other room."

"What are you doing here?" Hector asked, unsure what was going on.

"I'm here to see how you're doing and if there's any way I can help you," the priest responded kindly.

"I'm fine," the boy responded sullenly, dropping his eyes down to the floor.

"Gunny Nantz is concerned about you. He wanted to see if there was any way he could help you."

"No one can help me," Hector whispered, tears filling his eyes.

"God can help you if you ask."

"I have. It didn't work."

"I'm here aren't I?" the priest responded with a twinkle in his eyes.

Hector seemed surprised by the statement and paused to think about it. "How can you help me?"

"I need to know what's going on," Father Alexander asked.

"Nothing, everything's fine," the boy responded with a note of fear.

"Raise your shirt."

"No…I…ah….can't," Hector answered with a note of panic.

"It's okay. I can help you."

The boy reluctantly began to comply but not before looking in fear at the closed door. Father Alexander figured the woman was listening at the door but that didn't matter. Hector raised his shirt and turned sideways revealing ugly purple welts on his back. Some looked to be healing with time but a trio of fresh ones were obvious.

"I can explain…" the boy said woodenly.

"There's no need to say anything," the priest replied compassionately to save the anguished boy. But inside the priest seethed with anger at the obvious signs of abuse. "You don't need to say anything more Hector. I know what's going on and I'm going to help you. Give me some time and I will get you out of this situation."

Tears flowed out of the boy's deep brown eyes and he spontaneously hugged the priest at the declaration. "Gracias, thank you," he whispered, melting the priest's heart.

"You wait here. I need to speak to Ms. Rincon."

He walked decisively through the door and caught the woman backing up away from it. _Good_, he thought, _she knows what's coming_. "Ma'am I'm going to be straight with you. I suspect you've been abusing this boy and its going to stop right now. I will be monitoring this situation from now on and if there are any fresh marks or a hint this is continuing I will have you arrested. And this will be by the Military Police who don't take kindly to this kind of thing. So I suggest you think and pray hard about this situation because things are about to change. You got that?"

"Si," the woman replied dejectedly, knowing the truth had come out and she had no leg to stand on.

"Good. I'm leaving now but I will be back soon and I will be watching. God help you for what you've done."

With that he checked in on Hector and left the house to make his report and begin the next phase of a plan that had begun formulating in his mind.

**Area Command Headquarters Logistics and Supply Area, Los Angeles Theatre of Operations**

It wasn't even 11am and Mike was already bored. Despite a hangover from the previous night at the Inferno he'd reported as ordered to the supply company he'd been reassigned to three hours earlier. He'd met the CO and been given his assignment-ensuring quality control and timely distribution of resupply to the 40th Infantry Division. Sitting alone on a crate in a warehouse he snorted to himself. Quality control at a time like this? To him all that mattered was the right stuff got to the right people at the right time. What it looked like and how it was stacked was not very important.

It was a total make-work project.

The sour-faced Army Major who managed the building he'd been assigned to had a thin mustache and seemed to constantly be fidgeting, like he had a nervous condition. Mike could get used to that but he could already tell the man was a micro-manager and wanted things done a certain way. It hardly seemed necessary. The 40th had been so banged up over the course of the war they were in a support role, plugging gaps as they came, so had little need for rapid resupply being off the main line. But that had no impact on the Major. He had his schedule, flowcharts and models. What happened on the front had no impact on his priorities. He was totally G-4, all logistics, that was his world and his passion.

To each their own, Mike thought. Still, it gave him time to think. The previous night was a bit of a blur. His disappointment at not even being considered for the front had led him to taking Libby's offer to go out. Sure, she'd looked hot and that had helped but more importantly he was mad at what was happening to him so wanted to act out and throw a bit of a tantrum. He wanted to prove he was his own man so acted foolishly but it made no difference. He was still sitting on a crate and still had personal problems.

He had nothing against logistics. He knew how important timely supply was. It just wasn't his calling. Still, it was no excuse for how he'd acted when he'd been posted here. Libby had been at the right spot at the right time and had been a welcome harbor. Then there was that dress. Mike chided himself though for allowing his frustration and anger to get the better of him. He needed to start acting like a soldier and not a spoiled school boy despite how he felt.

Then there was Michele.

Her showing up at the Inferno had been a total shock and had enraged Libby. But the concern Michele had shown for him had touched him deeply. Libby wanted something from him and in some ways he wasn't unwilling to give it, but with Michele, there seemed to be something more-concern for him rather then herself.

Certainly Libby's reaction after Michele left showed where her loyalty lay. The attractive nurse had alternatively sulked and raged at him for the next hour for how he'd talked to Michele. He knew the two didn't get along but the hatred Libby had towards her rival was a bit unsettling and he began to wonder if that was driving some of her actions. But did it really matter? This was not a contest and he certainly was no prize. Yet Michele had gone well outside her comfort zone, into enemy territory in some ways to see if he was okay and to express her feelings for him unprompted. That showed a depth of character Mike had to stop to consider.

As the fog of Jack Daniels began to clear, like the sun burning off the early morning haze, some things became clearer to Mike Nantz. He needed to find Michele and they needed to talk, really talk because something had become clear in his mind. He was about to make a decision when a voice echoed in the warehouse he sat musing in.

"Michael? Are you in there?"

It was Father Alexander.

"Yes, I'm here. I'll come to you," he called back.

Mike walked briskly to the roll-down door entrance and vigorously shook the hand of the priest. "It's good to see you sir. How have you been?"

"Good. Busy on a project I want to talk to you about but good," the priest responded happily. Then, as if he'd connected some dots, his face clouded and he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I've been transferred to G-4 Supply Logistics."

"I thought you were in the training cell."

"No, that got shut down with the squid's new push," Mike confirmed. "Everyone got sent to the front so there was no need for a training group at this point."

"Everyone but you," the observant priest declared, probing for a reaction. "You okay with that?"

Mike shrugged his shoulders. "It is what it is. I wasn't at first but I've had some time to think about it. You know I want back in combat but it's just not to be."

The priest pondered the statement and his face brightened. "Perhaps the Lord is working in this and its part of his plan because if you had been at the front I couldn't tell you what I've discovered."

"What do you mean?" Mike asked, his curiosity peaked since he hadn't considered his situation as anything other then a disaster. He also then realized he'd not be in the position to talk to Michele either. "Small blessings," he whispered.

"Pardon?" Father Alexander asked, not hearing him.

"Nothing. So what's up?"

"I checked into the situation with Hector and even met with the boy and his aunt. Or I should say his alleged aunt."

"What do you mean?" Mike shot back in surprise.

"Her relationship to him is arm's length in a way. I'm not certain her claim to be his aunt would stand up to close scrutiny."

"But she's acted so confidently about that," Mike responded, stunned by the news. "She's also been so pushy about it. How could she be like that?"

"While these are desperate times," the priest mused, "they're also times that people can exploit for their own gain. With civil authority non-existent and people focused on the war domestic matters like these fall off the radar screen. Sadly, I would imagine there's lots of stuff falling between the cracks."

Mike couldn't believe what he was hearing and even more so that someone would be so self-centered they would take advantage of a child in this situation. His blood began to boil. "So what about the abuse then?"

"I checked myself and have pretty firm suspicions its happening. I confronted her about it and think I put the fear of God, literally and figuratively, into her," Father Alexander reported. "So I suspect Hector will be safe for the time being. But, people like that tend to slip back into their own patterns if things are allowed to go on for too long."

"So what can be done to save Hector from this?" Mike asked.

"He needs to be removed from that situation."

"How could that happen though?" Mike asked. "He'd need somewhere to live right? Someone would have to look after him."

"Well, that is the point," Father Alexander agreed. "So if someone were willing to step forward and become Hector's guardian, or better yet, be willing to adopt, he could be freed from the situation."

It took a second for the light to go on for Mike. "Whoa! Wait a second. I can't…"

"Why not? You care for the lad and he clearly loves you," the priest pointed out. "Who better then you?"

"Yes, but there's more to it then that," Mike held up his hands in protest. "There's commitment and a need for stability for the boy. There's…"

"All things you've told me you've desired in your life Michael," Father Alexander stated quietly. "What better incentive to finally step up and do it then this?"

"Okay, but besides, you don't just decide to do something like that and do it," Mike countered. "There's a process, children services and stuff. This is a court thing, and she's family. You can't fight that."

"Process is easy and I can walk you through it. She's distant family and her claim is pretty sketchy. And remember, LA is under military authority so that means things like this are handled by the JAG, not civilian courts."

Sure, but how will the Judge Advocate look at that any differently?" Mike asked, feeling as if the walls were closing in. "They follow the same set of rules don't they?"

The priest smiled.

"You've looked into that already, haven't you?" Mike declared, shaking his head at the thoroughness of the priest.

"I have. There's only one other thing that would strengthen the case to help free the boy from this horrible situation."

"Yea, what's that?" Mike asked suspiciously.

"How are things with you and Michele, by the way?" Father Alexander asked instead, his grin breaking into a warm smile.


	38. Chapter 38 Time for action

**Ch. 38 – Time for action**

**Defensive line, Alhambra, near the Santa Monika Freeway**

A rocket whooshed overhead and slammed into the ground throwing a fireball into the air. By now the beleaguered Marines on the front line barely reacted since they knew its range was off and they were safe.

"Watch your ammo guys," Cpl. Imlay reminded the men holding the defensive position. "Don't shoot at something you can't see."

"No problem Corporal," one of the soldiers replied, "I hardly have any ammo anyways," with a bit of gallows humor.

"Don't worry about it," the NCO replied, trying to sound nonchalant but inside concerned about the situation, "we're supposed to get resupplied this morning and then we'll be good to go. The squids are hanging back so we'll be okay til then."

While the situation had evolved to a bit of a standstill the human forces holding a make-shift defensive line along the Santa Monika Freeway were at the disadvantage. With mounting casualties and the inability to reinforce any concerted enemy effort would break the line. Plus the rumor had been running rampant among the troops that massive alien reinforcements were coming from space in a matter of days. None wanted to consider what that meant.

Still, what choice did they have?

This was no longer a war of political will or of ideology like the ones in the past; this was a war of survival against an enemy that sought to annihilate them. They'd already seen what the aliens did to civilians that got in their way last August when they'd unexpectedly attacked earth. So each one working to cling onto this position in the face of a fresh onslaught knew what the stakes were. Grimly determined the soldiers held fast knowing they were the only thing between this relentless enemy and the tens of thousands of exiles from their homes only miles away in the refugee city. No, they had to hold. There was no other option.

Imlay and his friend Jason Lockett moved up and down the line checking fields of fire and generally just encouraging their troops. More then half were replacements so getting them integrated into the unit also was a priority so as they moved they would call out the nicknames they'd made up for the guys. While tense as a guitar string on the inside each Corporal gave off the aura of calm despite the rocket grenades occasionally dropping in. Confidence at this stage of the game was of critical importance. They'd do their part to hold the men together and hold the line to the end.

The rumble of approaching trucks from the rear brought a measure of relief since it signaled their much-needed resupply had finally arrived.

"Supplies here!" Lockett announced to the gathered group seeing the first M1078 FMTV roll up. "It also looks like the squids'll be polite enough to let us off load the trucks without shooting at us."

"Decent of them," Imlay deadpanned. "All right, 1st squad, help the Log Wogs empty the trucks. The rest of you, eyes up, stay sharp."

The Marines got out of their defensive position and trotted over to the waiting FMTV's while the convoy's escorts swiveled .50 caliber machine guns in their coaxial turrets to cover the approaches.

"Okay guys, first truck, let's…," Imlay stopped short in shock. "What the heck?" he exclaimed.

"What's up Lee?" Lockett asked curiously, catching the surprised declaration.

"Look in the cab…it can't be…"

"Gunny Nantz?" Lockett declared, unwilling to believe his eyes.

"What the heck's he doing on a supply run?" Imlay wondered aloud.

"Who you talking about Corporal?" one of the Marines with them asked.

"Nothing, forget about it," Imlay shot back, trying to deflect the question.

But the young soldier's curiosity was peaked so he looked over to where the pair had found their surprise. "Hey, I know who that is. That's…"

"That's Gunnery Sergeant Nantz," Lockett answered, "our old platoon Sergeant."

"The Nantz that won the CMH, right?" the nineteen year old reservist replacement declared with awe in his voice.

"Yea," the African-American NCO responded.

"So what's he doing babysitting a supply convoy?" a seasoned Marines named Yantzi who had lived through the initial assault on LA asked with a note of disgust.

"I heard he got pulled off the line by the brass," a new Lance Corporal interjected joining the conversation. "They didn't want him getting killed. It would be bad for morale."

"Unlike us, right?" the skeptical Marine spat out. "What about us? We're out here putting it on the line. Why does he get a pass?"

"Shut your mouth Yantzi," Imlay growled. "You know the Gunny'd be right in the thick of it if he could be. It is what it is. Now start unloading those trucks."

Mike hopped down from the cab and immediately saw the group of Marines in a cluster looking over at him. _Great_, he thought, _more men wondering why I'm sitting things out. This is so frustrating._ Then he saw more closely who the men were. These were HIS men. Lockett, Imlay and several others. He wanted to crawl into a hole and hide in shame but knew he couldn't. Instead, as the supply people and Marines unloaded the trucks he walked over to get updated on the men.

"Hey Gunny," Lockett greeted him. "How's it going?"

The pair embraced. "You know, same old same old," Mike replied.

Imlay shook his hand and asked, "What are you doing in supply? I thought you were running the training cell."

"The group got shut down when the squid's put on this last push. There's no one to train so I got shifted to this."

"Sounds good," Imlay replied without conviction. "I bet you can be a real asset there."

"Bull," Mike snorted. "It sucks." Knowing he shouldn't be speaking like this he let his frustration out anyway. "You know I'd rather be on the line with you guys then doing this but orders are orders."

The other Marines nodded their head in approval, seeing anew the heart of the man which made Mike feel a bit better in some ways and more useless in others. He looked around to see what their situation was. His keen eyes noted a glaring absence.

"Who's your platoon sergeant these days?"

"Don't have one," Lockett answered suddenly sullen.

"What do you mean by that?" Mike queried. "You guys are in a key position here. That's too much pressure to put on you two. You need someone."

"Well…."

"Lockett, spit it out," Mike demanded. "What's going on here?"

Lockett opened his mouth to speak but Imlay silenced him with a glare. Grabbing Mike by the arm the pair steered him away from the other Marines. "No one wants to take the role Gunny," Imlay said in frustration. "There's talk about us being cursed. We've had 5 Sergeants killed in the last 2 months. People seem to be avoiding us. We can't get any replacements in the role."

"That's ridiculous," Mike shot back. "You guys have been in the thick of the fighting since day 1. Casualties happen." But he saw the look in the faces of the two seasoned combat veterans and knew also that perception could become reality.

As if to emphasize the point, a rocket fell near one of the trucks causing the gunner in one of the escort Humvees to open fire with his .50 caliber in response.

Lt. Gordon saw the trio and came over to see what was going on despite the activity starting up around him.

"Hey L.T.," Mike greeted the man.

"Nantz. Good to see you." The pair shook hands. "You got promoted to Gunny? Good for you."

"Thanks sir." Mike looked to see that the trucks were nearly unloaded and with small arm fire starting to pick up knew they had to be rolling out shortly. "Lockett, Imlay, you're doing a great job. Keep your guys squared away and watch your arcs. They're in good hands," he encouraged the two young NCO's. Then he turned to the platoon commander. "Can I have a quick word sir?"

"Sure"

Moving a short distance away and alone the two could talk openly.

"You okay sir?" Mike asked in genuine concern.

"You know," Gordon answered evasively.

"I heard about the platoon Sergeant thing," Mike declared.

"Yea it's stupid," the African American officer responded, his face twisting in frustration, "but there's a lot of units short of NCO's and it seems like we're starting to get passed over. It's making it pretty hard on the squad leaders.

"That sucks."

"Well, it's an imperfect world."

"It's still not right. Listen, you're a good leader sir," Mike stated matter-of-factly. "Don't forget that. The men respect you. You're making a difference."

Gordon paused, mouth open, and Mike could see his eyes get glassy. "Thanks Gunny, that means a lot. Listen, I've got to get back to work. See you around."

The Lieutenant in charge of the convoy signaled they were clear as the shooting all around intensified. It seemed like the last few boxes were thrown off the back so the supply people could get away but in a matter of minutes they were heading to the safety of the rear area.

Mike had a lot to think about on the way back to base. The conversation he had with the men from his former unit stuck in his mind plus he continued to think of his conversation with Father Alexander the previous evening. Then there was Michele. It was like he didn't have time to fight a war. No wonder God had taken him away from the front. He was so distracted he would be a liability.

_That's a happy thought._

He needed to resolve these issues so he could move forward. Mike pondered what he'd witnessed and the implications of it not just for the campaign but for himself.

Sitting in the lead FMTV the M1078 rolled up to the supply depot. Mike could see his CO standing with arms folded and an irritated look on his face. Instinctively the Marine knew he was the cause of the Major's problem.

Grinding to a halt Mike gave the young reservist Private some instructions then hopped out of the cab and strided easily towards to the waiting officer. He hoped the time would give the man time to calm down. He was wrong.

"What the hell do you think you're doing Nantz?" the officer exploded, not caring who heard the statement.

"I'm sorry Major Swan," Mike responded calmly, trying to defuse the situation with an apology. "I know I'm not supposed to be at the front but no one was willing to travel with this packet so I volunteered to do it myself."

"The front? What do I care about that?" the man blustered, his thin mustache twitching. "Your assignment Sergeant is senior NCO for resupply of the 40th Infantry Division, not the 5th Marines."

"What?" Mike shot back, forgetting decorum in genuine shock at the unexpected comment.

"Your job is to look after your division. When you left it to go on that resupply you compromised the efficiency of this operation."

"How do you mean sir?"

"What I mean," the Major answered through gritted teeth, "is that if a supply situation came up for the 40th we might not have been able to meet it."

Mike couldn't believe what he was hearing. "The 40th is at less then half strength sir and has been pulled back to a secondary blocking position. Their situation is good, I confirmed that this morning."

That's not the point!" the man screamed, causing heads to turn. "The point is that you work for me and that means you work for them. I don't tolerate that kind of free thinking. It causes the system to break down and then where would we be?"

"Needing to show some initiative and thought," Mike muttered under his breath.

"What was that Gunnery Sergeant" Swan demanded

"It won't happen again sir. My bad," Mike choked the words out then added despite how much it stuck in his throat, "I apologize for the mistake sir."

"Good. See it doesn't happen again," Swan stated and sauntered away.

Mike couldn't believe after all these years in the service his career had come to this. Things needed to change. He avoided the temperamental officer for the remainder of the morning and into the afternoon. There was nothing to do so he had lots of time to think. The conversation with the guys from his old unit bothered him. They couldn't get a platoon Sergeant and he couldn't get to the front. There had to be some sort of irony somewhere in this.

That was one thing.

The other was Michele and Libby. He was tormented thinking of both of them. The nurse was attentive and hot, but there was something almost plastic about her, like she had no depth. An inch deep and a mile wide. Michele on the other hand didn't seem to stack up well but there was more to her-depth and strength of character. As he saw her face in his mind he remembered her cry when he'd roped out of the helicopter back in August to go find the first alien command-and-control center. He'd never seen anyone so beautiful at that moment.

One woman seemed a fun distraction while the other something you could build a life with. For too long of late he'd been thinking selfishly of himself, reacting like a petty school boy who couldn't get his way. Mike began to realize his relationship with the nurse had been a reaction to his circumstances-first his poor treatment on the tour, then the misunderstanding with Michele when he returned, his reassignment to the rear area by General Daily, even his temporary anger at Father Alexander. Each time he'd reacted poorly and reacted selfishly. Mike reluctantly realized in many ways that he didn't deserve to be at the front. He was thinking only of himself and not others. He hadn't thought about the pressure the General was under, he hadn't understood what Michele had gone through when he was gone and seeing the false reports about Amanda and he sure didn't sure any grace towards the priest who'd been nothing but a friend and confidant to him for years. He wasn't even being fair to Libby, letting her believe he had any sort of feelings for her other then lust. No, looking into the mirror of his soul he didn't like what he saw.

Finally tying all these threads that had seemed to be blowing in the wind together a tapestry formed in his mind, a new, or perhaps renewed, resolution took over. It was time to stop acting like a child with a broken toy and step up as a man does and finally commit to something bigger then self once and for all.

Mike checked his watch. He had enough time. Despite the fact he was still on duty, knowing Major Swan wouldn't be by and knowing nothing would be needed by the group he was responsible for, he left the supply depot and headed towards the civilian area. He had a destination in mind but first made a slight detour to pick something up.

Mike arrived at the hospital within the hour. Although trying to look casual inside his heart raced. _How would it go? How would she react?_ he thought to himself. Taking a deep breath he walked through the main doors in search of his objective.

Michele had finished her rounds, almost as if on autopilot like she'd been for the past several days. She'd not heard from Mike after the night at the Inferno and with each passing hour her heart sank. While she kept telling herself to be patient in reality her mind was calculating when he would come for her. And each hour past the time she'd set in her mind a little bit of her died. She was so sure after she'd bared her soul and shared the truth of her feelings that he'd come to her. But Libby was not only gorgeous but also convincing, and a lot less complicated. Maybe she really couldn't compete and had lost him. Dr. Chevreau walked past her and pressed in as he passed though there was lots of room in the corridor. He gave her a wink and smile as he went by letting her know where his thoughts lay.

She knew what she wanted but what if she had no choice?

Then suddenly Michele saw Mike from down the corridor and her heart began to race. He was looking around, a single orange desert wildflower in his hand. Her breath became shallow and she felt herself begin to perspire. Michele took a step forward and then her heart exploded.

Libby breezed in front from another corridor and glided over to him, an easy smile on her face. She put her hand on his forearm and leaned in close. Even from a distance Michele could hear the tinkle of her laughter and knew instinctively that she'd lost. A glutton for punishment, lamenting what could have been, the tormented woman watched the happy couple for longer then she'd wanted. Finally able to stand it no longer, Michele turned and began the forlorn walk to where she didn't know, unsure of what the future held for her.

She got less then ten steps away when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning slowly around she came face to face with a grinning Mike holding the flower up in his hand.

"This is for you Michele. Can we talk?" Mike asked, giving her the beautiful desert bloom.

Michele felt as if she couldn't breathe her heart suddenly in her throat. She looked past Mike and saw Libby glaring at them, a venomous look on her face, then also saw Dr. Chevreau come walking to see what was going on. She'd been oblivious to it all. Had Mike called to her? It didn't matter. He was there, with a flower, a flower for her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concern on his face.

She flushed in embarrassment. "Yes, yes I am. I was just got caught up in thought."

"I can come back another time if it's a problem," he said, a look of disappointment on his face.

"NO!" she yelled, startling everyone around, herself included. "No, please, no. Where…where would you like to go?" she stammered, suddenly overwhelmed.

Mike caught this and knew things were not going as planned. His conversation with Libby had blown up and she'd had some choice words for him and now he was blowing it here. He decided to throw caution to the wind once and for all. "Screw it. Michele, I love you. I've loved you for months. I got kind of messed up and I'm sorry about that. I hope you can forgive me for being such a jerk. But if you'll have me, I want you in my life."

"Mike…oh Mike. I'm so glad. I've loved you too. I'm so sorry for how I made things difficult for you. I was scared and began to think too much. I love you so much."

The two stared at each other, unsure what to do next.

"Well, what are you two waiting for?" Kelly called out from the side. "Why don't you two stop talking and kiss for crying out loud."

The couple laughed at the comment and then followed the wise counsel, falling into each others arms and drinking deep of the other as the gathered staff cheered at the happy moment.

Libby looked over at Dr. Chevreau who stood off to the side watching the scene with a frustrated look. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and gave him a smile. He nodded and winked in return and the two made their way together towards the exit of the building.

The kiss lasted several minutes, each exploring the other and losing themselves in the moment until the spectators became bored and drifted back to their own lives. The pair broke the clinch finally but held on to each other, as if scared of losing each other. They tried to talk though each kept cutting the other off in their excitement to make up for lost time until each broke into fits of laughter.

Finally able to have a proper conversation the couple found it increasingly difficult to speak as the sound of roaring engines and the rumbling of machines began to fill the air. Though people tried to continue their business the noise became so loud it wasn't possible to concentrate. People began to drift towards the exits to see what was going on. Mike and Michele joined a group of spectators outside the hospital.

The sight almost took their breath away.

Rumbling down the street a line of M1A1 Abrams tanks clanked past interspersed by trucks and Stryker Combat Vehicles with a bald eagle painted on the side. Overheard dozens of CH-74 Chinook helicopters roared past.

"Thank God," Mike whispered with a mixture of awe and relief.

"What is it?" Michele asked, gripping his arm.

"Reinforcements have arrived."


	39. Chapter 39 Here comes the cavalry!

**Chapter 39- Here comes the cavalry!**

**Area Command Headquarters, Los Angeles Theatre of Operations**

For several hours tanks, AFV's, Humvees and trucks rolled through the refugee city to a new staging area that sprung up from their arrival. The Screaming Eagles of the 101st Airborne Division had arrived along with the bulk of the 1st Armored Division. The M1A1 Abrams tanks of Old Ironsides provided a lethal punch to this significant reinforcement. Tents were set up, temporary office and storage space unpacked as a hive of activity continued. Military Police and logistics personnel ensured everything was done quickly and efficiently.

General Daily watched with satisfaction the arrival a smile filling his expressive face while the rest of his staff could only stare in wonder and confusion.

"How did you make this happen?" Colonel Weeks, the S3 for the LA Battle Group shouted in amazement above the roar of engines and steady chop of overhead helicopters.

"I asked nicely," the commanding officer deadpanned.

"Right sir," the S3 huffed a bit. "And the Pentagon was waiting for someone to say please. We've gotten nowhere for weeks on this and you get us two crack divisions in a matter of days."

Daily chuckled. "I knew the right people to ask, I guess. It doesn't matter. They're here and we have some options now." Turning away from the impressive spectacle he announced to his gathered staff, "Okay. We move from theory to reality. I want to know how you're going to make our battle plans operational within the hour people. The clock's ticking so I want solutions now that we've got assets."

Several of the staff officers looked at each other uncomfortably but none said anything.

The general's instructions were interrupted as a Humvee bearing a flag with two stars on in pulled up in front of the group and an airborne Major-General jumped spryly out of the front.

The square-jawed, no-nonsense looking paratrooper walked purposefully over to the watching officers. "Ron, it's good to see you," he greeted, shaking General Daily's hand warmly.

"Hi Mike, I'm glad you could make it. How was the trip?" Daily returned the shake and patted the man firmly on the back.

"Helluva drive, I tell you but there was no other way to get all our gear here. Rest of the gang will be coming in by plane tonight."

"Well, we're just glad you're here." Daily turned to his staff and said, "People, I want to introduce you to Major-General Michael McConville, commanding officer of the 101st Airborne. We've spent a lot of time chewing dirt on God's green earth together."

"Damn straight," McConville replied. Then he said with a piercing look on his face to the gathered officers, "You've got a great leader here. One of the best, even if he's a jarhead ground pounder."

Daily let out a booming laugh, the first his staff had heard in weeks. "This from a guy who thinks it's smart to jump out of perfectly good airplanes." Seeing the strange look on the face of his team he filled them in. "General McConville and I go back a ways. We both ran track in the same district back in high school so we got to know each other through that."

"Yea, I'd even say he was good enough a guy to be my friend," McConville interjected. "We both joined up after that then our paths seemed to keep crossing in the military. Iraq, Afghanistan…now here."

"What took you so long to get the green light to be re-tasked?" Daily asked.

"Well, you know the swinging dicks from Washington. It took them a while to figure out the real action was on the west coast. You know them, anything within 300 miles and they're in a panic. I've said all along the east coast was a feint; the real battle for America has been on the west. We were wasting our time there. Finally they figured it out and shook us loose so we could make a real difference." The bravado faded for a moment as he looked around then his voice quieted and he added, "You guys have been carrying a pretty heavy load on your own."

"We've got some good people here. We may be a scratch team but everyone knows what's at stake and have given it their all," Daily replied, his mood darkening as he thought of the many thousands who had already sacrificed themselves in the defense of LA. He changed the subject, "Who's commanding the 1st Armored element?"

"Pete Cooper. I wanted the whole division but two brigades was all they'd give me. I hope its enough for you."

"Hey, I'm happy for anything I can get. Listen, I'm having an O group with my team in an hour. Why don't we get together at 2100 and I can bring you up to speed and you can formally meet everyone."

"Sounds good. See you in a bit." McConville jumped back into the idling Humvee and roared off with the vehicles still passing by.

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

Despite the impressive show of firepower and the relief it brought to the beleaguered west coast Mike and Michele had other things on their minds. With everyone occupied watching the arrival of the reinforcements Mike saw an opportunity for them to get out of the spotlight.

Taking Michele by the hand, he said, "Come on," and began to lead her away from the action.

Still clutching the desert flower in her hand she'd received Michele complied immediately.

The pair walked silently for several blocks before Mike found a spot that seemed to suit them, a small park that had sprung up on the edge of the temporary buildings used for housing. Despite the distance the sound of engines still invaded the space but in some ways it was welcome since it forced them to sit closer together to talk and no one in the area could overhear.

"Mike, I…"

"Michele, listen…"

The pair spoke simultaneously, cutting each other off. Mike laughed while Michele giggled nervously at the spontaneous outburst.

She spoke first. "I want you to know that I meant what I said back at the hospital. But I also want you to be happy. I…I've not always been the easiest to be around and I'm sorry. I jumped to lots of conclusions and wasn't there for you when you needed me. So if you think being with Libby would be easier I'd understand and not cause you two any problems. I care about you a lot…I love you…but I want you to be happy."

Mike shook his head in disbelief at the selfless statement. She took it the wrong way, that she'd lost so began to pull back. Instead he took both her hands in his and leaned in. "Michele, if anyone should be apologizing it's me. I allowed myself to be distracted by my own problems and didn't bring you in on them. I left you vulnerable…I…I was self-absorbed and I'm so sorry about that. You're the only one for me. I've known that since I roped out of that chopper back in August but I've been afraid to admit it. I've put a wall around me after what happened before and didn't want to trust. But I want to. I want to live again and I want to live again with you. I love you."

Michele's eyes were glassy with tears. "Mike…"

Instead of speaking, the pair spontaneously fell into a ferocious hug as each let the walls around their heart crumble in a final defeat of individualism. A bridge was built between the chasm of their hearts and a new life began at that moment though it would take time to figure out what it would look like. Totally absorbed in the moment, feeling the electric energy of the embrace coursing through them the pair failed to notice a Latino woman leading a reluctant boy past the fringe of the park who was being pushed by a stocky Mexican man.

**Area Command Headquarters, Los Angeles Theatre of Operations**

"Okay, so I've looked at the attack plan Captain Blatchford worked up. It's a bit rough but doable. So, what are our options?" General Daily asked to his assembled staff signaling the beginning of their meeting. For the first time he'd brought together not just his own S level staff but also the G level commanders of the various elements that made up the LA theatre of operations since he wanted to be sure everyone was on the same page. With the 101st Airborne and 1st Armor arriving in force they finally had the resources needed to go from theory to reality. As the two groups settled into their new staging areas and before their commanders met with Daily he wanted to have a plan of action for using them before they met so that the trio could work on details.

"Well sir, Major Cramner from my team has worked up some new lines of defense," Colonel Weeks who acted as the operations officer for the battle group reported. Spreading out a map he pointed to several freshly drawn lines. "With the muscle of the 1st Armored and the flexibility of the 101st we're certain we can contain any new alien influx."

"I agree with Colonel Weeks," a Brigadier General who acted as a staff officer confirmed, added his influential voice to the discussion. "Their lines look good, I've checked our satellite images and they've got excellent fields of fire and the approaches are good for us plus the interior lines are tight for resupply and reinforcement."

A different Colonel who worked in logistics piped up. "We're already planning advanced supply depots sir. We're confident we can get everything the troops need to hold these positions as long as we need to."

"We also have some great fall back positions now here and here," Brigadier General Marion Grayback pointed out on the map. With the added manpower we'll also be able to have a proper reserve force again, something we've been sadly lacking. Colonel Weeks has put together a solid plan."

"What about the attack plan?" General Daily asked in confusion. "I thought we were going with the plan of assault you guys worked up."

"Well sir, we've determined as a group that it's unrealistic and unachievable," General Grayback responded confidently. "This new plan is wiser and more suited to our situation. We've been working off that template."

The other officers from the operations group nodded their heads in agreement and voiced their support for the new direction causing Daily to sag in discouragement.

"This is crazy. We have to attack," a low female voice could be heard from the back of the cluster of officers.

"I think we can begin to deploy the forward elements of the 101st in the morning if that's agreeable to their G-3 people," General Grayback said, ignoring the statement from the back.

"I said we should go with the original plan and attack," the rising voice persisted, with an edge to it.

"We heard you the first time Captain Blatchford," Grayback stated, with obvious irritation. "When we need an Int assessment we'll ask."

"Let her speak General," Daily demanded. "I want to hear what she's going to say."

"Thank you sir," Blatchford said, adjusting her wire glasses as she shot the gathered officers a sour look. "We have significant reinforcements and supplies now and the clock's ticking. The plan of attack we worked up was a viable, doable solution. We need to use these reinforcements to attack and break this stalemate. So let's stick with the original plan and not panic and go all conservative because we've got some breathing space with these reinforcements."

"Panic? That's crazy sir," Colonel Weeks interjected in outrage. "Ours is a sound strategy, not panic. Hers is reckless. We were fortunate to get the help and no others are available. As she said, the alien reinforcements will be here in days. If we were to lose ours we'd have nothing left. Instead, we can build up a strong position and respond as the opportunities come."

"So you're new plan is to concede nearly half of LA to these bastards?" Daily growled at the other officers.

"That's my point exactly sir," Blatchford stepped in, holding her ground. "This is not a theoretical model or scenario. These are people's lives and homes we're talking about."

"Unfortunate but necessary sacrifices," Weeks declared with a nod of support from General Grayback. "We don't have time for sentimental thinking. We need to think coolly and to the future."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you. If we allow the squids to land and deploy we'll be fighting them here for years," she stated, her voice rising with emotion.

The reality of the declaration had a sobering impact on the gathered command staff and for a moment the conference room fell silent. General Daily was obviously moved by the conviction of the statement. He opened his mouth to speak but General Grayback spoke first. "No one wants this to go on longer then necessary so let's get off that. The Captain's assessment is flawed. We can keep them contained after landing and then systematically beat them back with what we have."

"Come on," Blatchford countered, standing her ground. "These are paratroopers we're talking about. We now have troops trained for the advance. These are not reservists they're combat troops, guys who are geared towards gaining ground. They're not suited for a defensive posture."

"Did you ever hear Bastogne?" General Grayback interrupted her. "Airborne can do defensive or whatever else they're ordered."

"Did you ever hear of 'it's not polite to interrupt someone when they're talking', General?" Blatchford shot back with irritation.

Daily snorted out loud at the comment, unable to contain himself. He held up his hand to stop the outraged General from speaking again. "Easy Marion. We're all pretty tense but we all want the same thing: the liberation of LA and end of this war. Go on Captain Blatchford, I want to hear what you're thinking."

"We need to stick to the original plan. Use the reinforcements to break through the line while a group holds the bridges to Terminal Island and takes down the shield generator. We then grind the squids up into fish bait in the killing zone in between," the reporter turned intelligence officer outlined passionately.

"Helluva plan Captain," a voice boomed from behind the clustered officers. "If Ron doesn't treat you right you come and work for me. We need people with fire like you."

Everyone turned to see General McConville as he pushed his way aggressively into the center of the group. "And let me assure you 101st didn't come all the way across America to do defensive. We came to kick these mothers in the ass."

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

The first echelon of the reinforcements arriving at the refugee city provided cover for a decision that had been made days earlier. A stocky Mexican man with heavily tattooed arms slunk up to the Rincon residence looking in all directions to ensure no one spotted him before lightly knocking.

"Are you ready?" the man asked in a thick accent as the door opened slightly.

"Si, Javier," Maria Rincon answered, scanning the street out front. The sound of the military convoy rolling through several blocks away had seemed to attract everyone's attention. She handed him an envelope bulging with bills. "The bags are in the next room. You grab them as we leave and trail us."

"All right," Javier replied, moving to hide at the side of the building.

"Hector!" Maria yelled. "Come with me I want to show you something."

"What is it Aunt Maria?" the boy replied coming to where she stood.

"Never mind that," the woman responded crossly. "Get your shoes on and follow me."

The boy innocently followed the scheming woman away from the house as Javier slipped inside and grabbed two bags that had been stashed away then he began to follow the pair.

The arrival of the fresh troops had seemed to empty the streets of people so Maria was able to lead Hector away from their neighborhood at a rapid pace.

The boy had stayed quiet for the trip thus far but finally became curious as they moved farther away. "Where are we going aunt?" he asked curiously.

"You'll see when we get there," the woman replied with an edge to her voice.

Hector picked up the tone and became concerned. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. Keep moving and be quiet," she ordered.

Hector began to look around, a growing unease filling him. Then he noticed the stocky Mexican following them. "Hey, who's that?"

"A friend. Someone who makes sure we get to where we're going."

"Why is he carrying suitcases?" Hector demanded, stopping in his tracks.

"Enough questions!" She gave Javier a look and he came over to stand behind the boy.

"Keep moving," the man demanded, gripping Hector's arm in a vice-like grip.

"Ow! You're hurting me. Aunt, make him stop, please."

She ignored the plea and began walking again. The man leaned down as he began to pull Hector along and hissed, "If you what's good for you boy you'll stay quiet and not resist."

Panic filled Hector and he thought to call out but no one seemed to be around at the moment and he was scared. Cowed into submission the boy followed obediently along not knowing but fearing what was to come. By the time they skirted around the edge of a park he was so forlorn he didn't even notice the Marine and woman embracing. He'd given up, instinctively knowing he was heading to a dark place.


	40. Chapter 40 Deeper still

**Chapter 40 –Going Deeper **

**Area Command Headquarters, Los Angeles Theatre of Operations**

General McConville loved Captain Blatchford's plan. The aggressive paratrooper almost knocked the diminutive woman over pounding her on the back congratulating her for the boldness of the plan. Any alternative thoughts from various areas of the command group to move into a defensive posture were immediately shelved so everything was put into motion to attack as soon as they could get organized.

The following afternoon, the key commanders for the battle group were assembled from brigade commander's right down to battalion commanders. Some simple maps with form-up points and lines of assault were marked as were alien force concentrations were presented to give the assembled group a picture of how things were to unfold. Between drone and satellite images the intelligence and operations people were able to pinpoint the alien strongpoints and build their plan off of that. The good news was the aliens seemed to be holding in a static position, waiting as they were for the anticipated reinforcements. The human forces would continue to monitor this but Captain Blatchford was certain the enemy was confident in their ability to hold the line against the forces they were arrayed against so would remain static. Little did the aliens know the human forces had just received an injection of fifteen thousand soldiers and three hundred tanks. They needed to strike fast and strike hard to be sure this advantage could be exploited.

"All right people," Daily began the briefing after packages of information were distributed. The plan's pretty straightforward but it should be able to bring a devastating effect breaking the backs of the squid resistance and deny them a base to work from when their reinforcements arrive. At H-hour a fifteen minute artillery and rocket barrage will pound a one klick line as marked on your maps. It'll be enough to soften them up but not so long it'll allow them to adjust. After that 1st Armored will plunge through the line along the entire front led by the 2nd Heavy Brigade Combat Team pushing forward relentlessly and destroying anything in their way. They'll be followed by 1st Stryker BCT who will press forward and through on a narrow front as fast as they can. Their objective is not to engage on the front but push through to reach our objective, here," he pointed, "which is Terminal Island, the squid staging area. Two reinforced companies from the 101st will have dropped in from the sea at the time the first assault happens and hold these two bridges," he pointed to an area map that showed the island, "until 1st Stryker gets there. It shouldn't take more then six hours. While this is going on a Delta Force unit will move onto the island and neutralize their shield generator thus allowing us to use air cover to pin them down."

"What about their drones sir?" the 1st Stryker commander asked.

"We'll have three fighter wings tasked to the assault. They will tie up the enemy air assets thus allowing us to use our superior ground forces to win the day. Other questions?"

"Why not use more then two companies to hold the bridges sir?" An Ops Colonel from 1st Armored asked. "It seems to me that's a pretty big assignment for a relatively small group. That'll especially be the case until the shield is taken down. They'll have no air cover to assist."

"Good question Colonel Briggs," Daily responded. "The reality is we don't have the airlift capability to bring in more then that and support the main assault. But we're confident they'll be sufficient to hold for the 6 hours needed. But yes, it is a big thing to ask. I believe we have the right people for the task."

The answer seemed to satisfy the man though none would voice the unasked question about what would happen if they didn't get relieved in six hours. The risk was huge but it was a gamble they needed to take.

"Sir, I'd like to request that that 2-5 be allowed to provide the force that holds the bridges."

All eyes turned to the gruff voice that had made the unexpected request. Colonel Ritchie moved forward to emphasize, his blue eyes blazing with determination.

"I don't think that's wise Ken," General Daily countered firmly but with compassion. "You've been in the fight from day 1. I'd think you guys would be looking for a break. Besides, the 2-5 is pretty banged up."

"That's exactly why we should do it sir. Not only have we earned the right but no one knows how to fight the squids on their turf like my guys. No offense to the 101st. General, this is a company level action. I can put together a group that's ready to fight."

Daily pondered the bold request for a moment then looked over to General McConville who gave a slight nod that was hard to perceive. "Okay. 2-5 drops in and holds the bridge. 101st roll the squids back east and west from the breach and exploit opportunities to destroy the enemy. We need to be ready to step off in 48 hours people so get your troops dialed in. Brigade commanders from the newly arrived elements, I have some people who will bring you up to speed to know what to expect from our enemy. We've also set up in the warehouse next door several models you can walk through plus all the satellite and Predator imagery you can stomach. Battalion commanders, you're welcome to use this too. I want you all as well prepared for this as you can be." The commanding General paused then grimly declared, "Make no mistake, we're risking everything on one throw of the dice. If we get this wrong they'll be nothing left, and the squid reinforcements'll be here in less then ten days. So make sure you're squared away."

Daily looked around at the gathered staff noting the sour look on

General Grayback's face and the tension on the others. Everyone knew what was at stake and also the risk they were taking. He took an extra couple of minutes to scan the room and make eye contact with everyone. "Gentlemen, I want to not only throw a blanket on them I want us to then kick the crap out of them until they've got no more fight left. Do you get me?"

Despite the high rank of the officers in the conference room the place erupted in cheers like a locker room before the state football championship.

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

Father Alexander walked with a spring in his step as he travelled through the refugee city. He'd received a text message from Mike earlier in the morning that he and Michele had talked and were working out their problems but ultimately they wanted to be together. He praised God for this encouraging news and his mind meditated on several possibilities.

Though in a civilian area the sights and sounds of preparation for war were evident. Supply trucks roared past and helicopters flew overhead. It was obvious something was about to happen. With the arrival of the 101st Airborne and 1st Armored the people in the refugee city had a renewed sense of optimism but he also knew that not so many miles away a relentless enemy waited whose desire was to not only defeat them but destroy them in the process. He prayed whoever was planning what was to come knew what they were doing as he watched two children innocently playing tag near him. He'd spent some time with Lt. Col. Ritchie before leaving on this mission and knew the grim reality the man faced. The Marine officer had a significant task but was agonizing about how to execute it. In a moment of vulnerability Ritchie had said he feared he'd 'bitten off more then he could chew' and didn't want to let the coming operation down. So he'd sent for the priest to pray for him. The priest reminded himself he'd have to pray for all the leaders.

Arriving at his destination Father Alexander knocked on the door of the plywood building. He'd come for his regular checkup on Hector. The two times he'd been there before had gone well. The woman who called himself Hector's aunt had been polite and the boy seemed happier. But there was something about Maria Rincon that the priest didn't trust. Rage seethed below the surface, ready to break out. He hoped his plan could come together before something bad happened.

As he waited at the door a strong sense of foreboding came over him. He felt a deep chill despite the heat of the late morning and instinctively knew what he'd feared had come to pass: Hector was gone.

He knocked again with a greater sense of urgency.

The priest chided himself for his belief the woman's devotion to the church could have held her there. With still no answer and no sound from within he turned the handle and let himself into the small home where the boy and his aunt lived. Had lived, Father Alexander corrected himself since they were no longer there. He looked around but knew he was no detective and would find no clues as to where they'd gone to. But even his untrained eye could tell this was not an unplanned flight of fancy. The woman had moved with precision and had planned the escape well. This meant that finding her would not be easy. He'd report this to the MP's and they'd begin some form of investigation but in reality finding a boy taken by a relative was not a high priority for the beleaguered unit. Should he tell Mike? That question weighed heavily on him. They needed a miracle. Automatically his hand went into his pocket to finger the well-worn rosary he carried around with him and he began to pray.

**Defensive line, Alhambra, near the Santa Monika Freeway**

Alien machine gun fire erupted from a hidden position as the officer ducked and weaved to the fortified observation post that Imlay and Lockett used to direct their squads on the front line. Rounds skipped behind Lt. Gordon as he showed a trace of the speed that had once made him a potential Olympian.

"Walker," Lockett called out to a Marine in position a few feet to his right, "Target at 2 o'clock by that pair of burned out SUVs. Take that sniper out."

The whump of an M203 grenade launcher going off was followed a few seconds later by the explosion of the precision shot hitting its target. A high pitch chirp could be heard after the sound of the grenade going off signaling a direct hit.

"Way to go Walker, you da man," Lockett encouraged the young Marine, "score another one for you."

"Nice run L.T.," Imlay encouraged the officer as he skidded to a stop, breathing heavily from his dangerous run. "You would have been a lock for the London Olympics if you hadn't gotten hurt."

"Yea, well at least now you don't have to worry about not going with them being cancelled and all," Lockett added with a touch of gallows humor. "Kind of hard to have some games when someone's trying to destroy your city."

Gordon grunted. "I guess the squids did ruin those plans when they invaded last year. Well who knows? Maybe I'll make a comeback when all this is done. I think I've learned to run faster since I joined the Corp."

"Getting shot at will do that to you," Lockett commented. "So what's up L.T.?"

"Platoon's getting moved off the line. Hummee's are coming to pick us up within the hour."

"See, I told you we'd gotten reinforcements," Imlay said to his friend

"I'm just glad we're getting a break," Lockett replied with a look of relief.

"Sorry guys but I don't think that's what's happening," Gordon countered gravely.

"What do you mean?" Lockett asked, a frown filling his face.

"The order came direct from Colonel Ritchie," the officer answered. "I think we're going to be used for something major."

"With no platoon sergeant? Yea, right." The African American NCO couldn't believe what he was hearing

"Hey, at least Harris can rejoin us. I heard he cleared his rehab and is good to go. You can get him back, right L.T.? Because that's what he wants too," Imlay implored

"Sure, I can sort that out," Gordon agreed. "The other part'll take some work but I'm not leaving the guys hanging. Anyway, get your people ready to move. We'll take it one step at a time."

**Area Command Headquarters Logistics and Supply Area, Los Angeles Theatre of Operations**

The following day, as preparations continued in earnest for the big push, Gunnery Sergeant Mike Nantz, Congressional Medal of Honor recipient, though still unawarded, sat at his desk in the supply warehouse shuffling papers from the right hand side, reorganizing them then shuffling them to the left then starting over again. He'd have the privilege of doing this all day long.

His CO, Major Swan had been by earlier in the morning with his clipboard to ensure everything was going as he wanted. The officer's thin lips had curled into a satisfied grin of delight with each check on the list he'd been carrying. Happy with what he'd seen, he patronizingly patted Nantz on the shoulder and carried on with his life ambition of ensuring everything fit into his flowchart.

Mike felt like driving his steel peg into his temple.

Outside he could see the buildup and outflow of supplies. He could see others as he'd stood at the door moving with a sense of urgency and instinctively knew something big was coming up. The base was energized with a sense of anticipation. For everyone, that was except his commanding officer which meant the same held true for him. Despite this all, he had a sense of peace about it and not the anger he'd had before. Its not that he didn't want to be in the fight, he did, more then anything. But now he left his fate, and things beyond his control, with another and trusted that all this was unfolding for a reason. Mike thought of the divine and instinctively knew this wasn't random, or without purpose, but that he was part of a bigger drama and so he'd start to go with the flow, rather then fight it.

Besides, Mike Nantz had lots on his mind.

He thought about Hector again, as he'd done since Father Alexander had talked to him. He remembered the first time meeting the boy at the police station when they'd rescued him and his father Joe. Mike remembered that despite being terrified the kid had shown a spark. He remembered holding him after his dad had died at the destroyed FOB in Santa Monika. All his life he'd wanted to help people in the generic sense, people he didn't know. It was a macro, big picture-type of thing. But now he wanted to help in the personal, in the one-on-one, in the micro. He knew what he wanted to do and surprisingly it didn't terrify him despite how crazy it seemed.

Then there was Michele. She fit into this bizarre puzzle too. They'd spent time together talking long into the night, just talking. He felt a sense of relief at this as he thought of Libby and her appetite for the physical. Michele was a welcome relief. Not that she wasn't attractive. He reminded himself there was something about her that got his motor running too. It just wasn't as overt as the flashy nurse.

No, it had been a pleasant night.

They pair had talked and talked and by the end it was as if they'd never been apart for weeks. It felt good and he wanted to continue with that feeling regardless of what happened with the war. It was time to go deeper.

"Hello Michael."

Mike snapped out of his happy thoughts at the familiar voice. "Father Alexander! Great to see you! Listen, I've come to a decision. I'd like to look after Hector if I'm allowed. I need to talk to Michele about it but I'm sure she'll be on board."

Rather then look excited the priest had a grim look on his face. "Michael, I don't know how to tell you this…something has happened….

"What"" Mike exclaimed in sudden panic. "He's not hurt is he?"

"No. At least I don't think so," the priest reported awkwardly, "but his aunt has taken him away somewhere and I don't know where he is."

"What do you mean 'she took him away'?" Mike pressed going stony in his expression.

"I went to their home and they were gone. It also appears that they left permanently. I'd ordered her to say but…"

Mike buried his face in his hands. He couldn't believe he was hearing this. He'd finally come to a decision to help and now it seemed too late. This seemed to be happening to him on a regular basis and he wondered if God was playing some cruel game with him. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure," the tormented priest confirmed. "I looked in the house and a lot of stuff was gone plus I asked some of the neighbors. They hadn't seen them for a bit."

"What can we do to get him back?"

"I don't know. I've made a report with the MP's who are working with Child Protection and a contact I have in that agency but…"

"Yea, but a lost orphan isn't a priority when there's a war going on."

The priest hung his head, obviously dejected. "It's my fault," he whispered.

"What? That's crazy. You can't carry that one," Mike countered.

"No, I knew something wasn't right with her but I thought I could keep her in check…that my position as a priest would carry some weight…I never thought she'd run…," his voice began to choke, "if anything happens to the boy I don't know what I'll do."

Mike had conflicted emotions. Rage at the woman's selfish actions, fear for Hector, but stronger was an overwhelming sense of compassion for the suffering priest. For so long he'd seen the man as almost untouchable, that the clerical collar was some form of armor, but he saw now a man like him with hopes, dreams and fears. His admiration and affection for the priest soared. Putting his arm around the miserable clergyman he said, "We'll find him, I know we will. And I promise you, I won't let anything happen to him again, I'll look after him."

Father Alexander wiped a tear from his eye and said with hope, "You mean…"

"Yes, I want to adopt the boy if I can."

"Well all right then. Lets find Hector."

"Okay, what's the first step?" Mike asked, ready for action.

"First we need to talk to God about this and then we figure out a plan," the priest answered, confidence restored, as he pulled his rosary out and began to pray.

As the afternoon drew to a close, and after Father Alexander withdrew Mike was left with his thoughts again. He needed time to think and had that in abundance since nothing was happening at the depot. But he also needed a change of scenery since the walls of the place started to close in. He knew Michele was busy at the hospital until the evening so leaving instructions with an Army Corporal he headed over to the NCOs club.

Though late in the afternoon the place had numerous customers, a testimony to the constant state of action the base witnessed. All elements of the military were represented in the pub reflecting the composition of the force trying to retake LA. Mike got a cold Budweiser and sat alone at a table to think through everything going on. He nodded to a couple of Marine Sergeants who sat at the table beside him and began to reflect.

The situation with Hector burned within him, only solidifying the decision he'd made. Yet the point was moot unless the boy could be found. _It should have never come to that_, Mike chided himself and his frustration spilled over to his irritation with his current situation. A big push was coming and he'd be left out of it again. He chewed on these thoughts, they becoming almost circular going around and around until a piece of the conversation at the next table hit him like a punch to the nose.

"I tell you, no ones going to serve with Gordon."

"The widow-maker? No kidding. Ritchie was crazy to pick his platoon to go in first place."

"Who else do they have though? Two companies? Give me a break! 2-5 shouldn't be handling it anyway. Those guys are done."

"Yea, and with them supposed to hold the bridges…well, I'm glad I'm not part of 1st Stryker."

Mike had an idea what was going on but he couldn't bring himself to believe it. He shelved his thoughts on Hector for suddenly a more pressing matter. Getting up he moved over to the table beside him, getting the attention of the two Marines. "Hi guys, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. What's up with the 2-5?"

"Buy us a beer and we'll tell you," the one answered casually, a sarcastic grin on his hard face.

Mike signaled the bartender for another round then said, "So what's going on with the 2-5? I served with Gordon."

The other Sergeant took a pull of his beer and looked more closely at the name on Mike's utilities. "Hey, you're Nantz. What you doing back here?"

"He got pulled to be some figurehead," the sarcastic one said to his buddy, then turned to Mike, "Hey, why aren't you at some officer's cocktail party?"

"So, anyways, what's happening with Gordon?" Mike redirected, trying to stay calm in the face of the one who was baiting him.

"He's a widow-maker, or a jinx. Either way, he's lost six platoon Sergeants in four months," the one reported.

"Yea, count yourself lucky you became famous before it happened to you. The guy's got the smell of trouble."

"Really?" Mike couldn't believe what he was hearing, knowing Gordon to be a solid officer.

"Yep. No one will serve with him anymore," the talkative Sergeant answered. "The last guy they tried to move into the unit flat out refused and is up on insubordination charges. The guy before that mysterious twisted his knee the day before he was reassigned."

"And those poor sods are going to be in the thick of it when the big push happens," the sarcastic one added wit a wicked smirk. "They don't stand a chance. I just hope it doesn't screw up the operation."

Mike was stunned by what he heard. He could feel his heart beginning to beat faster at the thought of what was to come to the guys. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out some cash and handed it to the two Marines. "Thanks for the info guys. Buy yourselves another round."

"Hey, what's your hurry? Its not every day we get to drink with a genuine hero," the sarcastic one called out as Mike walked towards the exit.

"Another time," Mike replied not looking back. "I have someone I need to talk to."


	41. Chapter 41 In all the way

**Chapter 41 – In all the way**

**Area Command Headquarters and staging area, Los Angeles Theatre of Operations**

"I want back in sir," Mike implored Colonel Ritchie.

"We've been over this before, Gunnery Sergeant, it's not my call," the commanding officer of the Marine battalion answered in exasperation.

After the conversation with the two Sergeants at the NCO's club the previous night Mike had been restless and unable to sleep. The thoughts of the men from the 2-5 going into combat lacking proper leadership didn't sit right with him. But what could he do? He was stuck in the rear area. Then, there was his renewed relationship with Michele. Plus the issue of Hector being missing hung over his head. He had a lot on the go. But almost as the thoughts entered into his mind they were pushed aside by a stronger call to duty. He knew what he needed to do despite his personal feelings.

So as soon as he could the following morning Mike checked in at the supply depot then left for battalion headquarters of the 2nd Battalion 5th Marine Regiment and demanded to talk to the commanding officer. The Colonel had been none too pleased to see the NCO.

"But things are different," Mike doggedly countered. "I know you're about to go into some pretty serious stuff and no one wants to serve in Gordon's platoon. I don't want them going into this fight without a proper NCO."

"That's not your problem Gunny. Besides, where did you hear that?" Ritchie demanded.

"Come on sir, let's cut the crap and talk straight. You know it's true so let's move past that," Mike rightly surmised. "You know I'm best suited for action. Training was okay but I'm dying in supply. This is killing me. I'm a combat Marine, a combat leader, not a boot counter. Please, just give me a chance. I want to help."

Ritchie opened his mouth then closed it, looking away for a moment. He folded his hands behind his back then looked up at the ceiling. "Screw it, let's go talk to General Daily," he emphatically declared.

Less then thirty minutes later they were at the area headquarters and in the commander's office. LCol Ritchie had bullied and pushed his way to this audience and General Daily was none too pleased.

"I don't have time for this and neither do you," Daily chastised the Colonel when he heard the request for reassignment. "So why are we going over this again? The point is not up for debate."

"Things have changed though General," Ritchie countered. "We're having troubles staffing the platoon NCO role with Lt. Gordon. We need them at full efficiency and Nantz will allow that to happen."

"Yea, I've heard about your staffing issue Ken," Daily shot back. "I hear no one wants to serve with the guy. And this is one of the platoons going in on the mission?"

"You know what, we can talk about that afterwards okay?" Ritchie responded testily. "For now, I have a little more then 24 hours to put my team together and I need Nantz."

"And there's no other platoon in your whole battalion you can use instead but this one?" Daily pressed.

"Despite the talk, they're the best one in their company," Ritchie held his ground. "They're ready for this fight."

"Ready except they have no platoon Sergeant. That's not ready in my book," the commanding officer grunted angrily. "Maybe I should give the assignment back to the 101st if you're not ready."

"Come on General," that's not what this is about," Ritchie reacted, his voice dropping, stung by the comment.

Daily realized the heated conversation had gone too far and he'd spoken out of turn. "I know your guys can do it Ken," he changed tone. "You know my hands are tied on this. The order comes down from Washington." Switching to Mike he declared, "And you, Gunnery Sergeant we've been over this before. You've got your orders like I do. Are you not willing to fulfill them?"

"Sir, come on," Mike stood his ground, trying to stay cool. "I've been doing nothing but that for months. I just want to serve where I've been trained: in combat. I didn't ask to get a medal I didn't deserve, I didn't ask to go on the dog and pony show across the country but I did. I didn't ask to be stuck in training and then supply but I've soldiered on. This is different! This operation has a chance of ending the war. I'm not asking for special favor. I'm just asking to do what I've done all my career. Dammit sir, take me off the bench and put me in the game, let me be a Marine. What would you do if you were in my shoes?"

Mike reddened at the profanity but didn't apologize, instead fixing the stocky African American senior officer with a steady gaze.

Daily pursed his lips and gave a wry grin. "Well Gunnery Sergeant I'd like to say I would follow orders but I expect I'd be doing the same thing." He paused for a moment, chewing on his lip. Then, with a look of fire in his eyes responded, "Enough of this! I'm not letting some pencil neck geek in Washington dictate to me anymore. Nantz, you're in."

Mike and LCol Ritchie withdrew from the office after receiving the assurance and left the headquarters. Wisely they left to allow the General to get back to what they'd interrupted him from.

"Okay, so that's done. I want you to come with me to battalion right away. We don't have any time to lose. I'll take care of the paperwork and letting your CO know. Anything you need from me?" Ritchie asked.

"Well I'd like to see the look on Major Swan's face when he finds out. This'll ruin his whole chart."

Ritchie snorted. "Anything else?"

"Just one," Mike replied, feeling a like a weight had been lifted off his chest. "I'll let you know on the way."

As plans were coming together for the attempt to break the stalemate in Los Angeles before the anticipated alien reinforcements arrived similar events were happening around the world. Though efforts had been made by the UN initially for some form of co-coordinated response the initiatives had fallen to the squabbling of politics especially among some of the fringe nations that were not being directly threatened. Though the President, Prime Minister of Britain and other G-8 world leaders had spoken of the common threat politics and selfishness overwhelmed the common good.

But all was not as bleak as it seemed.

Among the nations under assault information sharing had gone to unprecedented levels and new relationships built on mutual need were being formed outside the bloated bureaucracy of the UN. The most critical piece of information shared was that discovered by an unassuming newspaper reporter turned Army Reserve intelligence officer.

Captain Blatchford had been awarded the Defense Distinguished Service Medal for her actions around discovering the weakness of the alien shield though she didn't know it yet. Her information had gone around the world and had led to most nations coming to the same conclusion: attack was a necessity. Almost organically the countries came up with similar strategies for attempting to dislodge the enemy who hung on doggedly like a tick. Though none of the world leaders or their military commanders would admit it, each was preparing to make their own throw of the dice to win it all. With the war for the world having gone on nearly a year and the costs huge, none wanted to see it protracted conflict although how to end it was still being fiercely debated and there were still those who advocated suing for peace. But the soldiers on the front line knew from experience what many of the politicians still didn't. There could be no peaceful co-existence with this invader. Theirs was a mission of annihilation and colonization. One only needed to look at the alien water extractors and the impact they were having on water table levels to have that emphasized.

The coming battle would define the future of humanity. So Los Angeles almost became a proxy for what was going on around the world. They would be the first to attempt a breakout and the rest of the world would be watching.

Within the hour Mike was back with the 2-5 at their battalion area. After clearing intake and being formally reinstated into a company he had a chance to meet with his beleaguered platoon commander.

Lt. Gordon had an obvious sense of relief as he came over to greet his new platoon Sergeant. He shook Mike's hand vigorously and pounded him on the back even before the Gunnery Sergeant had finished his salute. The pair conferred for a while ensuring each was up to speed on what was going on and what was needed. Then the junior officer left to continue the preparations for their insertion the following day. As he walked away it seemed there was a renewed spring in the Lieutenant's stride.

Mike couldn't help but smile at the change of circumstances and what they meant for him. Finally, he was useful again. Coming out of the company headquarters Mike saw two familiar figures striding towards him.

"Gunny Nantz! Welcome back," Corporal Imlay greeted him warmly. "We heard from the L.T. you'd been reassigned to us."

"Yea, we didn't think we'd see you again so soon," Lockett added with an obvious sense of relief.

Mike tried to think of a clever one-liner to throw back but nothing came to mind and nothing seemed appropriate. ". "I've really missed this…and missed you guys. It's good to be back," he said quietly.

"Back where you belong!" Imlay declared enthusiastically.

"Word," Lockett agreed. "Listen, we heard you volunteered to come back. After everything we've been through…," his voice trailed off uncomfortably.

"What he means is…I mean with all the talk and stuff…," Imlay didn't know how to finish.

"We're just grateful, that's all. So are the guys," Lockett stated awkwardly.

"Okay guys, let's get one thing straight," Mike said with an edge in his voice. "This talk about jinx's and curses is bull. Gordon is a straight-up leader. You were in good hands and you are in good hands. Let's put this crap behind us and focus on our objective."

"Yea, right on!" Imlay cheered.

"Damn straight," Lockett grinned.

"So, what's the state of the platoon?" Mike asked, knowing the point had been made and there would be no more distractions.

"We're in pretty good shape," Imlay reported. "We're a bit light in a couple of the squads and could use a good leader for the machine gun det but the guys are squared away and they all know how to fight. They're all experienced so we're ready for whatever happens."

"Outstanding," Mike answered in genuine happiness. "Let me look into some of these things and also make sure we've got what we need. Also, I want the troops together so we can run through some drills before supper all right? Then we'll run through things again before we turn in. I want the guys sharp when we go in tomorrow."

"No troubles Gunny," Imlay affirmed. "We'll make sure the troops are squared away and ready to go."

The two Corporals left with renewed enthusiasm.

Mike went about the rest of his business with a spirit of vigor and happy purpose. He felt a sense of vitality surge through him he'd not had for months. Things finally seemed to be looking up for him.

"Michael, what are you doing here?"

The familiar voice of Father Alexander brought reality crashing in on the new state of bliss. Mike could tell the priest was agitated by his tone.

"Oh, hi Father Alexander. I just got transferred this morning back to the battalion so I didn't get a chance to touch base." Mike paused then decided to come clean. He didn't want to hedge anymore. "No, I volunteered to come back. The battalion needed me so I asked to come back."

"And what about Hector? What about your promise to help me look for him? Have you forgotten that?" the priest pressed, obviously unimpressed by what he'd heard.

"I haven't forgotten," Mike held his ground. "Some things have changed."

"What's changed? How could things change in one day?" the priest pressed. "Michael, you can't keep being so inconsistent. At some point you need to stand up and stand for something."

"Hey!" Mike retorted, losing his cool. "That's not what this is. Remember, it was never my idea or my desire to be stuck in the rear area. I'm a Marine, a combat soldier. That's what I should have been doing all along, looking after my troops and doing what I can to beat these aliens back. The only way we'll be able to deal with things like this is if we have peace. I'm just trying to do my part to see that happen."

Father Alexander rocked back at the strength of Mike's passionate rebuttal. His face reddened at the realization of what he'd just accused his friend of. "Michael, I'm...I'm sorry. It was wrong of me. I should never have accused you of that. I know that. It's just…just I'm worried about Hector and scared what's going to happen. With him disappearing like that after I warned his aunt….I lost my head. Please forgive me. I know how hard this has been on you."

Mike was instantly mortified by how he'd treated the priest who'd stood by him for years. He could see the anguish on the man's face and knew how concerned he was. In truth Mike was too but had temporarily forgotten in his excitement to be getting back into the action. "No, I'm the one who should be apologizing to you. I know you didn't mean it. I'm sorry I jumped on you like that."

"Thank you Michael," Father Alexander blinked his eyes rapidly as he tried to maintain control of his emotions. "So you're going in tomorrow?"

"Yes, first wave."

"I'll be praying for you," the priest said quietly, avoiding eye contact.

"Thanks, I appreciate that," Mike answered, genuinely grateful. "But what about Hector? What can be done?"

"Well, the right people have been alerted but it's like finding a needle in a haystack. For now, all we can do is pray." Again the priest pulled out his rosary. He thought to himself he'd been doing a lot of that lately but then maybe that was the way it should be.

Mike and Father Alexander spent some time together praying about the situation but then each had to get back to their duties. Mike didn't have as much snap in his actions as he'd had before. It wasn't the priest's fault. He too had a heavy heart for Hector and began to feel guilty about leaving after pledging to try to help find him. He could understand the reaction of the priest. Then another thought hit him like a brick to the head: he had to tell Michele.

She'd likely be as thrilled as Father Alexander had been.

Mike checked in with Lt. Gordon and got permission to leave for an hour. Fortunately the hospital was close to the 2-5's staging area so he jogged over but before he arrived he made one quick stop. Heart beating in anxiety and anticipation he entered the hospital then found Michele in between rounds.

"Mike! What a pleasant surprise," she greeted him with a peck on the cheek. "Listen, I'm in the middle of rounds but give me a half hour and I can get away for a bit of time."

"Michele…I…" Mike suddenly didn't know what to say.

"What's the matter?" Michele asked, picking up on his apprehension and becoming cautious herself. "Is everything okay?"

"Uhm, yes, but I'm going back into combat," Mike answered suddenly feeling incredibly selfish. "I've been reassigned back to the 2-5. No, that's not entirely true. I requested a transfer back in. We'll be leaving for the front early in the morning. I had to see you before I left."

"Back to the front? To combat?" Michele said breathlessly as if she'd been punched in the stomach. "But how? I thought you weren't allowed back at the front."

"I wasn't but I talked to the Commanding General and he made the arrangements."

"You…you asked to go back in?" the dark haired woman asked incredulously, her eyes flaring.

"Yes, I had to. Some things came up. They need me," Mike implored.

"Okay, I see," Michele responded evenly, trying hard to keep her emotions in check. "Listen, I need to get back to work. I'll be praying for you. Take care of yourself."

She turned and began to walk away.

Mike grabbed her hand to keep her from leaving. She was crying and trying hard to not let the tears fall down her face. "Michele wait, there's more. I didn't just come to tell you and I'm not abandoning you like I did before. I have to do this but it doesn't mean I want to leave you because I don't." He paused and fumbled with his pocket as Michele stood transfixed by the implication of his declaration. "I know this is lousy timing," Mike began as he went down on one knee and brought a small box out of his utilities. "I don't want to hedge anymore, I want to be in all the way." Opening the box a diamond ring sparkled. "I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?"


	42. Chapter 42 Game Time

**Chapter 42- Game Time**

"YES!" Michele cried out, so loud others looked to see what was going on. She charged into Mike with such force he nearly fell over, embracing him fiercely. "Yes, I'll marry you."

"Even after everything I just told you?" Mike asked, making sure she understood what was going on.

Michele's eyes filled with tears but these were not of regret or fear but rather joy. "I heard what you said Mike and I don't care. I know the risk. I still don't care. I love you too and I'm tired of hedging myself or waiting for the right moment. You want to marry me and you're the one going into danger."

"I'm really glad. I can't live without you," Mike responded, not having thought much beyond popping the question. He wasn't sure what else to say.

"That you would think of me when you're getting ready for something like this means so much," Michele continued her thought, sliding the simple but elegant engagement ring onto her finger.

There really wasn't anything else to say so instead the two looked deep into each others eyes then kissed passionately as a gathering of staff and several patients cheered.

"What's going on here?" Dr. Chevreau demanded angrily, pushing his way into the middle of the cluster of people. "This is a hospital, not a club. Get back to work. You, Sergeant," he referred to Mike, "you can't just come in here and disrupt things like this. We have work to do even if you don't."

"He came to propose to Michele, doctor," Kelly explained, joining the group.

"Well, isn't that just special," Chevreau responded icily. "Regardless, Michele you have your responsibilities so I expect you'll get them done," he demanded, trying to dampen the elation of the situation.

Kelly took the chart out of the disappointed woman's hand and gave it a quick look. "Listen, I can take care of this for you. Take a half hour with Mike then come back."

Chevreau looked at the nurse angrily but a murmur from the crowd who'd picked up what the doctor was trying to do causing him to back down. "Fine," he muttered and stormed off.

"You're the best Kelly, thanks," Michele gushed, unhooking herself from Mike to give her friend a hug.

"Yea, yea," she deadpanned. "You kids go and have fun."

Mike and Michele left as if floating on a magic carpet. The next thirty minutes seemed like thirty days to them and was enough to sustain each for the stressful days to come. Each drank deep of the other now that all the obstacles to their relationship were gone. Though they set no details for their wedding, in truth how could they, that wasn't the point. Mike had asked, he'd crossed the line, and Michele had accepted, allowing herself to fall off the cliff with him. For the time being, nothing more needed to be said. A state of bliss ensued. But time marched on and each needed to leave the blissful cocoon they were enjoying and return to the reality of their lives.

"I don't know when I'll see you again," Mike declared quietly.

"It's okay. Go knowing I love you and I'll be waiting for you," Michele answered, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Listen, if I don't make it back," Mike said urgently, "I don't want you to-."

Michele cut him off by putting her hand gently across his mouth silencing the coming declaration. "I'll be here waiting for you," she re-iterated.

"Thanks," he said, looking down to avoid her seeing the tears welling in his eyes. "This has been a magical time. I wish I could capture it in a bottle and take it with me."

Michele's face lit up in a radiant smile. "Do you have your phone?"

"Sure, what about it?" he asked in confusion.

"Here, give it to me." She took the phone from him, scrolled through the options and set it to camera. Then, holding it at arms length and putting her other arm affectionately around him she said, "Say cheese!"

Rather then think, he responded as he felt at the moment sensing the woman he loved on his arm. She scrutinized the picture with a look of satisfaction. "There, now the moment's been captured," Michele confirmed, handing him back the phone. "Now just before you head out on your mission I want you to send this to me so I know you've left. Then when you come back we'll take another one to celebrate." Her voice began to break, betraying the mixed emotions she was feeling as she tried to stay calm. "I'll see you when you get back." She hugged and kissed him hard, lingering for a moment. Mike could taste the salt of her tears mixed into the kiss. "Please come back," she said then left quickly so as to not prolong the agony of their departure.

Mike stood alone, his own eyes wet, emotions heavy. He held the phone up to look at the picture and was surprised by the look of spontaneous joy on his face. She had captured the moment. This would sustain him until he got back.

"I will be back," he whispered.

Mike returned to the unit's staging area, no his unit's staging area he reminded himself. The Marine practically floated the whole way, almost giddy for how things were turning out. Though the future was uncertain the present was clear for the first time in months. He knew what he was doing and he knew what he felt. Mike couldn't help but let out a deep sigh of contentment.

Upon returning and getting back into the preparations for the next day's action, Mike didn't tell the guys in the platoon about him and Michele. They didn't need the distraction and neither did he. The decision though not entirely spontaneous had also not been completely thought out. Perhaps it was best that way. If he'd spent too much time analyzing it he would have backed down waiting for a 'better time'. The reality was there wouldn't ever be a better or perfect time. He did love her. He did want to spend the rest of his life with her. Now he needed to make sure he stayed alive to see it happen.

**Abandoned industrial complex, somewhere outside Military Command Los Angeles Protective Zone, LA**

A rat scurried across the floor kicking up little clouds of dust as it ran. Hector lay on the worn-out mattress watching the creature run away as the man known as Javier tried to catch it for fun. The stocky, tattooed Latino had already captured and broken the backs of four previously for his own amusement.

Hector had no idea where he was, only that it looked like an old factory that hadn't been used for years. All he knew was the place and the people who made it home scared him.

The boy had been taken to an area on the fringes of LA, closer to the war zone and away from the refugee city and military operations area. The neighborhood was dotted with abandoned warehouses and industrial buildings once a haven of commerce in the early 20th century but now a forgotten footnote in history. The only thing growing in a place where once hundreds worked were weeds that dominated the landscape.

This was a no-man's land on the periphery between the two opposing sides where those wanting to live by their own rules had gravitated towards. A small community had formed in the buildings of the complex by those seeking to do things their own way while not caring what happened to anyone else.

The echoing sound of heavy equipment moving in the distance was heard as if calling out something of significance to the human inhabitants was about to happen. But to those in this area, they could care less. Theirs was a land of their own, a personal fiefdom where they made the rules. Occasionally an alien Wedge Ship would pulse over the area or a human aircraft but beyond that the area was left alone. The war was further to the west and this part of the area had been deemed insignificant so forgotten. In truth it had been forgotten even before the war by the progression of commerce so the current situation only furthered its legacy as a haven for those looking to live outside the law.

Hector felt his stomach tighten again. The miserable boy tried not to cry as he thought again about what had happened to him. The priest, Father Alexander, knew Gunny Nantz and was trying to help him but Aunt Maria didn't want that to happen. He'd begun to realize during that time perhaps what had been happening to him was not normal, that him going out to work while she didn't and giving her all the money wasn't normal, that the packages she'd arranged for him to deliver for some shady men was not right either. She'd tricked him into leaving their home then beat him when they'd arrived while the man named Javier watched as a warning of what would happen to him if he tried to leave.

But he'd realized it too late.

Before he could have run away and known where to go. Now, he had no idea where he was and the people around him scared him. His fear of the consequences of trying to escape was the strongest lock on his prison. Hector was trapped. Hot tears formed little rivers as they flowed through the caked-on dirt on his face. He lay on the mattress, not wanting anyone to see, knowing what would happen to him and did the only thing he could think of: pray.

**2nd Battalion 5th Marines staging area, Los Angeles Theatre of Operations**

The morning was already hot, promising a scorching day but none of that mattered as the NCO's went over their kit and supplies one last time before loading up.

"Claymores-yea, check," Imlay called out, sweat mixing already with the eye black he wore signaling his readiness for combat.

"Extra Predator SRAW's-check," Lockett added for the benefit of their platoon Sergeant who checked everything off on the list he'd written on a page in his Field Message Pad.

"Everyone equipped with NOD's?" Mike asked.

"Yea Gunny, we all got our Night Optical Devices," Lockett confirmed.

"Extra SAW and GPMG ammo?"

"Everyone has two extra belts for the 240 and 249 each," Imlay confirmed.

"How about you Doc? You got all the extra med gear on the list?" Mike questioned Jibril Adukwu.

"Yes Gunny," the Corpsman answered in his thick African accent. "Everything is packed and ready."

"Awful lot of kit for a six hour mission," Lockett commented, wiping sweat from his face with a camo neck cloth.

"It is if you think its going to be a six hour mission," Mike returned, checking his list again.

"And you don't think it will be?" Imlay questioned.

"When does it ever?" the Gunnery Sergeant answered.

That got the attention of his squad and team leaders.

"You think things are going to go FUBAR? Is this a suicide mission like some people are saying Gunny?" a Lance Corporal named Dave Milne asked nervously.

"No, not at all," Mike answered with more confidence externally then he felt inside. "The mission's well thought-out and planned. We need to break this stalemate. But things do happen and we should be prepared for them. Mission success is based not just on guts but also preparation. You don't win battles with happy thoughts and good intentions."

"It's a pretty heavy load though," another newly minted fire team leader named Taylor Lake commented.

"Yea, are we a rifle platoon or a weapons platoon?" Milne griped.

"Good question Milne. Maybe we're both for this mission," Mike mused. "Yes, it would be a lot if we were making a long hump," he agreed, "but the LZ we're dropping in is close to our position. The extra gear will come in handy if things start to go south on us. So we have the luxury of being almost a hybrid weapon's platoon when you look at the overall gear the Colonel's having us bring in. Be glad I'm not having you guys carry more bombs for the mortar!"

That brought a chuckle from the assembled leaders in the platoon, their relief at Mike's thorough analysis and preparation evident.

"Reporting for duty Gunny," a familiar but recently unheard voice broke into the conversation.

"Harris!" Imlay shouted.

"Hey, Specs, man," Lockett joined.

"You back with us?" Imlay asked with anticipation.

"Sure am. I've been cleared to return to action and found out someone had requested me for your machine gun detachment." I'm glad I didn't miss out," Harris said enthusiastically, adjusting his black, thick-rimmed glasses.

All eyes turned to Mike who watched the Marines greeting each other with a content look on his face. Yes, the Gunnery Sergeant thought of everything.

"Good to have you with us Harris," Mike shook his hand, "back where you belong huh?"

"Yea, for both of us," the bespectacled Corporal added. "I'm just glad I got here before you left. I couldn't live with myself if you guys went in without me."

The group nodded their heads in appreciation at the simple yet heroic comment before a new voice joined the conversation.

"Is there room at this party for another?" a Latino female voice spoke above the others.

All conversation stopped as Tech Sergeant Elena Santos sauntered over with a slight limp to join the group.

"Santos? Whoa, you comin' on this mission?" Lockett asked in surprise.

"I didn't think you've been cleared for front-line duty anymore," Harris added.

"Well, that's technically true but I guess this situation called for someone with my unique talents," the spunky Air Force NCO replied.

"What? The only woman to let a squid into her mouth?" Harris laughed, remembering their desperate ride the previous year to the last LZ left in LA at the time.

Santos smacked him in the arm for the mischievous comment. "Funny."

"Naw, I'm kidding. It's good to have you back."

The two hugged and others from the original team welcomed her back.

"But seriously, what are you doing here?" Imlay asked, thinking she'd never be back.

"You need someone to call in and co-ord airstrikes once the shield comes down. That's my job. Plus, I made myself enough of a pain in the ass in the rear area my boss wanted to get rid of me so when the call came in he was happy to release me."

That caused a new round of laughter further lightening the mood for the tense NCO's who clustered around her.

"So you got everything you need?" Mike asked, bringing things back in focus. "We're about to load up."

"Sure thing. I got my weapon, my code book and my good looks," she added cheekily, giving him a wink. Noticing his new chevrons she said genuinely, "Hey, congratulations on being promoted. Glad to see someone is doing something right for a change."

Mike snorted but didn't comment. "It's good to have you back Santos."

The Latino Sergeant moved away from the other Marines so she could speak to Mike only. "Listen, I know you requested to have me back even though I'm less then 100%. Thanks for that. I was dying at the rear. I won't let you down," she declared with an intense look in her eyes.

"I know you can get the job done. Mind you, where we're going you may not thank me but I wanted people around me I knew I could trust," Mike answered honestly. "Also, I know what its like to be stuck in a place you don't belong."

"Yea," she chuckled. "I know where we're going. I wouldn't want to be any place else right now but with you guys."

"Good. You'll be in the second chopper with me. Go report to Lt. Gordon and let him know you're here."

The sound of engines and the rumbling of heavy equipment in the distance signaled final movement for the operation was beginning. The tanks and carriers of the assaulting force were beginning to move out to their staging areas in preparation for the coming attack. At the 2-5 battalion area everything had been packed, checked and re-checked. The loads had been weighed to ensure they wouldn't overload the helicopters and now all waited for the signal to mount up.

LCol Ritchie called all the company and platoon commanders along with the Sergeants together as the helicopter pilots began their pre-flight checks. The assaulting force Marines sat edgily around in their chalks waiting to load up. Everyone knew what was coming up and knew the stakes.

"All right people, listen up," Ritchie got their attention. "Nothing has changed in the plan. We're inserting from the south-west landing in-between and as close to the bridges as we can in two packets. Intel tells us we should be able to get within one klick and resistance will be light. We do a quick assault securing both ends of the bridges. E company, you have the Vincent Thomas Bridge. B company, yours is Commodore Helm. Headquarters and a small reserve force will set up at the SA Recycling facility between the two when the area has been secured. We need to do this quick because Delta Force is inserting behind us fifteen minutes later. They'll leapfrog past our strongpoint at Vincent Thomas Bridge then seek and destroy the shield generator on the island. Once that's down Air Force will provide overhead cover. Then, 1st Armored will relieve us six hours later. If all works well we'll be back in time for evening chow. Any questions?"

"Who will have overall operational control on the ground sir?" one of the two company commanders asked. "You haven't told us yet."

"I will be," Ritchie answered, a gleam in his eyes.

For the first time the other leaders realized the senior officer was in full fighting order with pack, Modular Tactical Vest and weapon.

"Is that a problem?" he continued.

"No sir," the Captain who asked the question replied. "But what about the rest of the battalion?"

"They're LOB for this operation so the XO can look after them," Ritchie answered, reminding them the remainder of the 2-5 was not going to participate in this operation only 101st Airborne and 1st Armored. "So I didn't want to stay behind and let you all have the fun."

"Outstanding sir," the Captain replied.

"Good to have you with us," another added.

The collected leaders broke into grins at the declaration from their fiery commander. Mission confidence had just gotten a boost.

"Excellent. Then return to your troops, we take off in fifteen minutes. I'll see you all at the bridges," Ritchie signaled the end of the briefing. "Retreat…"

"HELL!" the others erupted.

"2-5," the Colonel answered, glad to be going out. "Let's get it done Marines."

The officers and NCO's returned to their men and word spread rapidly through the two companies that their CO would be coming with them. Smiles lit up faces and several cheered the news. Any gloomy spirit was chased away, replaced with an edgy desire to get on with it.

"Mount up!"

The command was yelled out and relayed over the radios. Each Marine had the new encrypted radios the aliens couldn't pick up so their communications were expected to be excellent between themselves and back to the operations centre that would be co-coordinating the operation from the rear area.

At least they hoped it would be.

Marines trotted over to the waiting aircrafts, instinctively ducking away from rotor blades and hopping into their places, waiting for their ride behind enemy lines and the chance to finally win the battle for LA.

In the second helicopter of the 1st platoon of E Company the whine of the Blackhawk's rotor turned to a scream as the helicopter jerked slightly fighting gravity. As the bird lifted off from the ground Mike hit the send button on his phone sending the picture Michele had taken of them the day before to let her know he was departing. Beneath it he added the simple tag line: I love you. He felt his chest tighten and throat constrict as he looked at the picture before shutting down his phone. It seemed so long ago. He had no time for that now. He had to put those emotions away just like he did with the phone. There would be no room for distractions on this mission, he was going back to combat and he needed to have a laser focus. It was game time.


	43. Chapter 43 Into the breach

**Chapter 43 into the breach**

The helicopters and tilt-rotor Osprey aircraft carrying the 2-5 Marines to their objective moved away from land then out to sea as the 1st Armored and 101st Airborne forces moved towards the front line for the attack. The morning sun glinted off the water and it was an altogether peaceful scene. Mike watched from the doorway of the helicopter he sat in the tranquility of the picture, wondering if they'd ever be able to experience the joy of nature again like days past. Could the innocence lost last year when the world was invaded be restored? It would if he had anything to do with it.

The airborne armada had flown well behind their own lines then out to sea away from the city. Reaching their outer mark they made a left hand turn and began to fly back towards LA. The Marines had flown far enough out that the sprawling city was not even seen on the horizon the plan being they'd come in low, fast and hard in order to achieve an element of surprise. Dropping to less then one hundred feet the aircraft increased speed roaring towards their objective.

Mike looked at his watch and noted the time for the bombardment prior to the assault on the main line was about to begin. He wondered how it would go and what type of reception they'd have saying a quick prayer for all involved. He could see through the windshield of the Blackhawk that LA was now visible which meant they could be seen as well. They would find out soon enough if anyone was paying attention as they reached land knifing on an angle towards their objective.

After a short time the call came from the helicopter pilot: "Five minutes."

"Five minutes people," Mike yelled above the roar of the helicopter engine, feeling his heart rate increase, "get hot!"

The Marines in the chopper began to wiggle around, adjust straps on their gear, set helmets in place and the countless other rituals soldiers perform before combat. Mike surveyed the troops with a seasoned eye, noting with satisfaction the look of determination on their faces. Then his gaze fixed on Elena Santos. The Air Force Tech Sergeant, who had every reason not to be there, had a gleeful snarl on her face, seemingly itching to get back into the action. He wondered what he looked like shifting his gaze out the open door again at the approaching Knoll Hill Park where they would be landing. Prominently beyond that was the Vincent Thomas Bridge puncturing the skyline. Everything was in place, now it was time to do it.

Without warning the helicopter shook violently as an explosion nearby sent a shock wave through the air. The Marines were pitched into each other, trying to maintain their position as Mike grabbed a restraining strap to keep from falling over. Another deafening explosion filled the air and threw the Blackhawk in another direction causing the passengers to fall in a different direction.

"Enemy contact. We got a hot LZ!" the pilot screamed into the communications as he ducked and swerved the bulky helicopter.

_So much for light resi_s_tance_, Mike thought as he watched with horror a Blackhawk get hit by alien ground fire then plunge to the ground.

The door gunner opened up with his M240 to try to take off some of the pressure hosing the ground with fire as the aircraft began to descend to the landing area.

"It's too hot for us to set down Gunny, you're going to need to do a quick insertion," the pilot reported to Mike.

"Roger that, we won't leave you exposed longer then needed," Mike replied flicking the safety off his M4A.

"Thanks. God be with you," the tense pilot answered.

"Get ready," Mike yelled to the troops, watching the ground rise slowly towards them as alien machine gun fire picked up. Several rounds pinged off the armor plating of the helicopter as the door gunner swung to engage this new threat. Mike noted the location just as the Blackhawk went into a hover several feet above the ground.

"Move! Find cover!" he yelled, jumping out onto a baseball field then running for cover as enemy rounds chewed up the green grass of the outfield around him. Looking left and right Mike saw that enemy fire was coming from a group of buildings that made up the Harbor Occupational Centre across the street from the park which was to be their landing point. He recognized the structure from the aerial photos and knew it provided excellent cover so would be tough to assault. He swore to himself, cursing that they'd dropped into this hornet's nest. Continuing to run for cover he noted only a couple of helicopters had landed so far which meant there wasn't a lot to work with in dislodging the seemingly entrenched enemy. _Where did these guys come from?_, Mike thought to himself as he burned through a magazine to buy himself a few more steps. Slapping a fresh one in place he let off a three round burst. _And how'd they figure out to set up here?_

A Marine in front of Mike went prone in the infield in order to return fire. The experienced Sergeant knew the danger of this move so grabbed him by the back of his tactical vest and hauled him up as he ran past. "No, don't stop! Keep moving until you find cover."

The pair moved to a dugout where Mike pointed to one of the buildings across the street and ordered the Private to fire. He looked behind him and saw the rest of the platoon firing and moving into position. "Harris," he yelled, "set up a base of fire with the GPMG and supports us." To the rest he ordered, "When the machine gun opens up we go. All of us. We need to hit their line and roll them back away from the LZ or the rest of the company is going to get fried."

"Ready Gunny," Harris reported.

"Rock and roll!" Mike yelled.

The M240B opened fire on the alien position, its heavy staccato overwhelming all other sounds. Tracer rounds flitted through the air as the 7.62mm shells eagerly sought a home to lodge in. The alien fire weakened at the salvo from the medium machine gun and two LMG's that joined the chorus.

"Go! Go! Go!" Mike screamed, "All the way to those buildings," he pointed to the training centre across the street. "Look for targets of opportunity. Set them on their heels."

Popping several grenades from their launchers to soften the area up and firing as they moved, the Marines spread out and sprinted the 200 odd meters down the hill from the park then across the street crashing into where the aliens had been set up to fire upon the landing helicopters. Nerves tense with the anticipation of contact they found the location was empty. The aliens were gone.

The Marines fanned out and one fire team swept around the buildings as helicopters took advantage of the lull to begin landing again. They found nothing.

"Looks like the Squids have bugged out," Lockett commented. "That's weird. They had the jump on us and good ground to fight from."

"Maybe there was only a few of them and we spooked them," LCpl Milne said hopefully.

"I don't know about that," Mike injected skeptically. "Regardless, we'll take the break to get the rest of the company in. Lockett, you take your team and sweep forward and see what you find. Milne, you let the L.T. know what's going on. I'll stay here with the rest and hold this position. We need to get to that bridge. Time's running out and we need to secure Delta's LZ."

**Human Defensive position and Front line of assault, Santa Monika Freeway, LA**

"Fire!" the command squawked over the radios.

"All batteries commence firing!"

Along the one kilometer front dozens of artillery pieces and multi-tube rocket launchers erupted, pounding the alien position. The ground churned as round after round landed in the kill zone. For the allocated fifteen minutes Army and Marine artillery units mercilessly rained deadly explosives down on their objective. From the human defensive position they could feel the ground shake from the impact as they watched thick plumes of black and grey smoke rising in the air from a variety of points of impact. Rounds screamed overhead as the 2nd Brigade Combat Team of the 1st Armored Division waited edgily to get into combat. More then one trooper wondered if there would be any aliens left to fight once the vicious bombardment ended. They didn't have to wait for long.

"Assault force forward!"

"Old Ironsides advance!"

The order came from the command centre to move forward so their arrival would coincide with the end of the bombardment. General Daily didn't want to allow the aliens a chance to regroup so the timings were kept purposefully tight. Engines roared to life in Abrams tanks and AFVs. Springing forward they leapt towards the smoking breach in the line.

A sudden silence hung thick in the air as just as quickly as it had started the bombardment ceased though secondary explosions could be heard in the distance. Where once alien units had harassed the human defenders now there was only carnage and destruction. The lead elements of the 1st Armor eagerly fanned out looking for enemy targets while the 1st Stryker BCT surged forward not stopping in their mission to reach Terminal Island.

Beleaguered Marines and soldiers who'd been holding the line for days cheered wildly as the reinforcements passed them to punish their ruthless opponent. Punctuating the totality of effort A10 Warthogs and Apache gunships flew overhead providing cover while looking for targets of opportunity. On the edges of the front the 101st Airborne began to deploy with their mission to push the front out and back. One kilometer quickly became two then a three kilometer front that also steadily pushed forward consolidating their gains. Once the initial front had been captured though the attackers slowed their pace to ensure a continuity of the front and to not get overly extended. Reconnaissance units pressed street-by-street and block-by-block looking for the enemy and pockets of resistance.

The aggressiveness of attack, sheer numbers thrown in and the amount of fire seemed to do the trick. Resistance along the front line was light as the shell-shocked aliens crumbled so progress was rapid and ahead of schedule. Other then several running fights with retreating alien units there was no sign of the enemy. Several squadrons of Wedge Ships had attempted to counter-attack but between flights of F15 fighters and even several F22 Raptors supported by ground fire the outmatched drones were overwhelmed and destroyed in their entirety. At this rate the operation would be over in less then five hours.

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

Michele tried the best she could to stay calm though she could feel her heart beating rapidly. She attempted to focus on her work, looking at the chart she carried for the seventh time. Again though the distracted woman pulled out her phone and looked at the message with attached picture.

_I love you_, it called out to her.

Michele felt her heart flutter as she read and re-read the simple message. She'd received it less then two hours before. With any luck he'd be back before it got dark. She'd already made plans to slip away and greet him when he returned. Hope that the war would be over filled her, thoughts of a future that only days earlier seemed impossible chased away the fear that tried to gnaw away at her.

_Things are going to be different_, she whispered to herself.

"Prep for casualties!" the head nurse of the division called out, running down the hall. We've got incoming ten minutes out. All stations prep for triage and surgery stat."

Michele grabbed the woman as she ran past, stopping her in her tracks. "What's going on? I didn't think we were looking after casualties from the front? That's the field hospitals job."

"These aren't from the front," the nurse answered, yanking her arm free and beginning to move away. "These are from the Marine assault force sent to take the bridges. There's no place else to send them so they're ours."

"But there wasn't supposed to be that much resistance," Michele declared shakily.

"Yea well tell that to the poor sods who got hit going in."

Michele felt her heart race almost out of control as the breath left her.

The hospital became a whirlwind of activity minutes later as the first batch of casualties came in. Michele did her best but couldn't help but be distracted. Every time the door opened and more Marines were brought in for treatment she looked for Mike. Each time she'd have a soaring sense of relief when he wasn't part of the group but then her heart would sink seemingly lower as it was called out more were standing by. She wanted to run out and see but held her position and did her job. No one around her knew the anguish she was suffering, pressing on to help where needed.

Then, as suddenly as it happened, it ended and they were finished so could look to the comfort of the casualties they'd treated. In the end, there hadn't been too many and most had light wounds. Michele got her breath back and began to calm down, catching fragments of a conversation two Marines with light wounds were having sitting on a bench in the hallway waiting to be transferred.

"I'm glad I'm out," the Marine sitting in an undershirt with a dressing over the wound on his shoulder stated with a sigh of relief.

"Me too. Especially since we were next to the Widow Maker's platoon," his friend, a dressing over a laceration on his forehead declared.

"Were we? I don't believe it. How'd they let him on the mission with no platoon leader?" the first responded in surprise.

"He got one," the other stated emphatically.

"Who? Who would be stupid enough to volunteer to serve with the Widow Maker?"

"Nantz."

Michele froze in the middle of her writing, the pen stopping in mid word. Suddenly all the noise and bustle of the hospital was gone as she listened to the two Marines.

"Really? I can't believe it. Does the guy have a death wish?" the one with the shoulder wound said incredulously.

"Beats me but the mission was bad enough without Gordon being there," the other said, fidgeting with the dressing on his head. "Now it's not just stupid, it's suicide. Yea, what's he lost, like six platoon Sergeants?"

"I heard it was more like ten," his friend exaggerated. "Now he's going to jinx his platoon and the company. Sounds like we're lucky getting out with minor wounds."

"Amen to that."

Michele could feel her heart racing and found it difficult to breath. The conversation had not only stunned her but hit her like a load of bricks. The woman's legs became wobbly as she recounted what the pair had said about where Mike was and who he was serving with.

"No," she whispered, "no, it can't be," she implored, willing it not to happen.

"You okay Michele?" Kelly asked, a look of concern on her face. "You don't look so good."

"I'm…well…no, I'm feeling a bit woozy."

"Come on, you need some fresh air." The nurse took Michele's arm and led her from the building outside. "What happened?" she asked. "You were fine before. This seems pretty sudden."

"Mike...he's…he's in danger," Michele gasped in return.

"Well yes, he would be because he's in combat but why is that suddenly so upsetting for you?"

"More then that…the officer he's serving with…," Michele then went on to explain the conversation she'd overheard between the two wounded Marines and the fear that now seemed to be crippling her as the nurse listened compassionately.

"Okay, now I get it, but Michele, you need to be careful listening to that kind of stuff," Kelly spoke cautiously. "There's no such thing as jinxes. You can't let old wives tales like that bug you."

"But they've already taken casualties," Michele countered, "we weren't expecting any for hours from that group."

"Well yes, that's true. But that's also war, not some curse. Besides, Mike knew what he was doing going in, he's not a foolish or reckless man. Trust his judgment and have faith."

Michele didn't say anything in reply but mulled the words silently. "You're right, I was being stupid," she answered, nodding her head in agreement. She pulled out her phone that had the picture Mike had sent her earlier that morning on it of the two of them. "I will have faith. I will trust. Come on, let's get back to work."

**Vincent Thomas Bridge, Terminal Island, LA**

After the initial alien attack was beaten off the remainder of the company was able to off-load without incident. LCol Ritchie congratulated Mike on his quick thinking as he received the report on what had happened at the beginning of the landing. After the initial danger casualties had been light and were already being sent back with the helicopters that had landed them. Mike wasn't sure about how good their fortune was as things didn't seem to make sense but held his thoughts since they needed to move. With heavy flanking guards the Marines pressed forward to reach the bridge under the command of the company commander.

The Vincent Thomas Bridge was a distinct landmark rising majestically from the shore and connecting it to the island so there was no need to use maps. Besides, the leaders of the assaulting force had studied aerial photographs so knew the area around it well. After the initial resistance at the landing zone they'd barely seen an alien so were able to make up for lost time.

The lead platoon from E company paused for only a moment to assess the level of defense and alien activity before moving in. Seeing none on their end they moved fast laying on a quick assault capturing the landward end without resistance. With support behind them including LCol Ritchie's headquarters group they didn't stop to consolidate, charging along the 1,500 foot span to the other side. A small group of aliens attempted to hold that end but the swiftness of the Marine attack caught them off guard and they were overwhelmed in a matter of minutes. Immediately they began to fortify the position to hold against any counterattack while signaling success back to the theatre commander. The same thing happened at the other end as no one expected the aliens to just give up the key access point to the island. LCol Ritchie stayed with Lt. Gordon's platoon on the landward side deciding to remain until the Delta Force team moved through. He'd already received a report the Commodore Helm Bridge had been captured so thus far the mission was unfolding as planned. While the aliens had put up more of a fight there, ultimately they had not been able to stand.

So far so good.

The sound of helicopters beating in from the distance signaled the operation was right on time. Punctuating that thought the HQ radio come to life.

"Black Jack 1-1 this is Joker 2-1, we're inbound to your position," the lead helicopter pilot confirmed.

"Roger that," LCol Ritchie took the radio and acknowledged himself. "Be advised there are hostiles in the area 2-1. Look for red smoke in your LZ."

"Affirmative. We're four minutes out."

Ritchie signed off and turned to the gathered Marines. "Delta's inbound! Give them some cover."

The sound of helicopters grew until two MH60K Blackhawks came into view. Mike held a position to the right of the bridge watching the surrounding area rather then the Marines who anticipated the operation being completed. Something didn't feel right. He couldn't pinpoint it but he remained unsettled about how things had progressed. They'd been challenged on landing but not at the bridge. The alien forces they'd initially encountered had seemed to melt away. It just didn't make sense. So yelling at the troops in his platoon he tried to keep them focused on their arcs and not the approaching Special Ops helicopters.

Someone to the left had popped smoke at the landing zone in a large parking lot north of the ramp onto the bridge nearby as the helicopters flared then began to descend.

Then Mike saw it.

Movement to his right coming out of the maze of shipping containers housed in the area had been missed by the other platoons in the company. "Contact," he screamed but it was too late to stop several groups of aliens who swiftly moved into the open. "Joker 2-1 this is Blackjack 3-2, abort, abort."

It was too late.

Six missiles streaked through the air towards the helicopters that tried desperately to pull out of their landing. Three hit each chopper, exploding on impact. Wreckage plummeted to the ground as the area in front of the bridges came alive with alien activity. Several missile launchers unleashed on the Marines as two walking guns came into view. As that happened, the shield overhead seemed to begin to move outwards, farther inland. A Navy F14 tried to streak in to provide support for the forces at the bridge but hit the edge of the alien shield as it continued to press out and burst apart.

The Marines regained their faculties quickly so returned fire but their position was tenuous. Reports had already come from the end of the bridge that they too were being engaged as well. It appears as if the aliens had been waiting for them.

After conferring with the company commander to ensure the troops were in a good defensive position LCol Ritchie got onto the radio dialing into the area command net to report the unexpected development. "This is Blackjack 1-1. Be advised Joker is down. I say again, Delta is down. The shield is moving further out and we have no air support. It looks like an ambush. Comms may be compromised, advise, over."


	44. Chapter 44 Finding courage

**Chapter 44 – Finding courage**

"Joker is down," LCol Ritchie reported, confirming again the destruction of the Delta Force team over the radio. "Their primary objective has not been achieved. Shield is still in place, over."

There was a long pause at the unexpected report sent back to the area headquarters miles away. Ritchie wasn't sure if that was due to the suspicion the radio might be tapped or indecision about what to do. He also knew this would go right up the chain to General Daily. No one was about to make an alternative call now that the perfect plan was going to pot.

Despite the continued sniping action coming from a residential area near the entrance to the bridge as well as a forest of shipping containers on the opposite side the senior officer removed his helmet and ran a hand through his crew cut hair. It was pretty clear the squids had known where they were coming in and when. The 'how' was the question. There were obviously no security leaks. The aliens had also not had time to react when they heard the helicopters coming in. So that left only one option. The human's new secure radios were not. Ritchie remembered back to the early stages of the war when the invaders had used the human communications net to triangulate their attacks. If this were the case again it could spell disaster. The Marines tasked with holding the bridges would need to be cautious with how they used their radios again.

"Blackjack 1-1 this is Diamonds Actual," the radio crackled signaling the area commander was responding. "There are no other assets available in theatre to assist with that phase of your mission."

"What about scrambling an alternate team?" Ritchie asked, fearing what he'd hear in return.

"Negative on that. There's no time to put one together to assist based on the timetable. New orders: you'll need to discover and destroy the generator with the resources you have on station and continue to hold the bridges. Do you understand me?"

"Loud and clear. We're on our own for the time being."

"Get it done Marine. We're counting on you," the commander declared.

"Understood. Blackjack 1-1 out." Ritchie handed the microphone back to the radio operator and massaged his temples. Suddenly he had a splitting headache.

The sporadic gunfire melted away within several minutes providing a lull in the action. It seemed as if the aliens knew they had the upper hand.

LCol Ritchie waved his hand to call together a hasty O group. "Here's the situation gentlemen. Delta's down and there's no one else available. Our radios may be compromised by the squids so we'll also have to use them sparingly. No help is coming so we have to take care of this situation ourselves. Therefore we're sending a team in and take that generator out. Any suggestions?"

Despite being stunned by the news, showing the resilience of the Marines at the bridge, a response came from the shocked leaders within a minute.

"The team needs to be small enough to slip in but strong enough to fight without support," Captain Harvel, the company commander declared, stating the obvious but also showing he bought into the plan. "They know we're here and they seem content to keep us pinned down. So whoever goes will need to be able to fight their way through the cordon then disappear. That'll be tough because if the squids have half a brain they'll know what we're going after."

"A reasonable scenario. We can work up some options to give them some cover. But first off, who goes?" Ritchie asked.

Mike cleared his throat.

"No way Nantz. After the crap we had to go through just to get you here?" the battalion commander growled.

"I'm the only one who's done it before. I can get the job done," Mike stated with a confidence he didn't feel at the moment but knew it to be true.

Ritchie looked at the Gunnery Sergeant hard then over to Captain Harvel who merely shrugged his shoulders. All knew their options were limited. "Okay Nantz, you're in. But if you get yourself killed you're in a load of crap with me."

Mike chuckled. "Understood sir."

"Just like last year at the Golden State Freeway ramp, huh?" the company commander commented, reminding Mike of when they had first come in to take LA. Mike also remembered he'd been wounded there which wasn't a happy reminder considering what he'd just proposed to do.

"Who do you want to take?" Captain Harvel asked.

"Eight man team like Delta was going in with," Mike answered. "I'd take Imlay, Lockett, Ortega and Rapetti along with Harris and Jackson with a 240."

"That's only seven," Ritchie pointed out.

"I wasn't quite done yet," Mike stated looking over to a group of gathered NCO's who watched the conference with interest. "I'd also like to take Santos."

"Air Force? What the hell for?" Ritchie retorted.

"Because she's been in the thick of it before and proven herself. Plus, when we take this thing down I suspect we'll find ourselves in a hornet's nest so I'd like someone who knows how to get us some help."

"Okay," Ritchie replied, sounding unconvinced. "Your call. Captain, what's your assessment."

"Looks like a solid team sir," Harvel commented. "What about you Lt. Gordon? He's stripping away most of your experienced squad leaders. You okay with that?"

"We don't have a lot of choices in this. Those are the one's I'd pick sir," Gordon answered honestly. "Yes, it'll be a bit of a strain but the rest of the platoon can pick up the slack."

"So how do you want to play this Gunny?" Harvel asked.

Mike grabbed a pair of binoculars and began to survey the area. He took nearly ten minutes looking at several options despite the obvious agitation from the others around him for an immediate solution. They'd only get one shot and it had to be done right. Finally, his experienced eyes spotted what he sought. A thin smile came to his face. "I got it. We can't move to the other end of the bridge or we'll be spotted so we need to do a crossing on the channel."

"You'll still be seen," the Captain surmised.

"Not if you create a diversion," Mike replied to the skeptical officer. "Lay down a base of fire from this end of the bridge with the mortars and feign a breakout attempt from the other side. You drop some smoke along with HE and that should keep their heads down plus give us a screen. We then hook around to here," he pointed to a large white-roofed building to their right which housed the World Cruise Center. There should be some sort of tender or boat there we can grab then we pop across to the shipping off-load center there," he pointed to a series of idle cranes, "and lose ourselves in the containers just behind on the island. You open up in say thirty minutes to create our diversion and give us another thirty to work with. I'll move my team and go from there."

Harvel nodded his head in approval. "Outstanding. Solid tactics. It might just work. All right Gunny, prep your group to move out." Then he turned to his radio operator, "Get me 2nd Platoon at the other side of the bridge. I want to talk to them."

"Sir, didn't you say our comms might be compromised? Won't the squids figure out we're up to something if we use the radio," the Sergeant asked nervously.

"That's exactly what I'm counting on. I want them looking at that end of the bridge," the Captain responded cagily.

Mike had indeed picked well since each member of the team chosen willingly agreed to volunteer for the dangerous assignment. Very little needed to be done as it was going to be a quick assault so after an inventory check they were ready to go. With an area only a little over four square miles he didn't expect it would take them too long to find the generator. Whether they'd be able to destroy it or not was another story. Private Rapetti was detailed to bring along two satchels of TNT plus they would bring several disposable rocket launchers and claymore mines with them as well. The key though would be to move fast and hit hard before the squids could respond. Mike and his team were ready to go in twenty minutes.

Ten minutes later the three M224 60mm mortars in the company fired _pop pop pop_ in rapid succession followed by the deep bass _whump_ of the 81mm mortar that had been added to bolster their firepower. The rounds screamed over the bridge and impacted in likely areas of alien concentration opposite the Marine forward defensive position. Each tube fired three rounds in rapid succession then the 60's dropped several rounds of smoke into the target area. At the island end of the bridge the reinforced platoon began to move cautiously forward behind the mortar screen supported by an M240 GPMG.

The activity seemed to work as it was obvious to LCol Ritchie and Capt. Harvel observing from the other end that the aliens were responding by shifting infantry caste units to bolster the blocking force at the bridge.

With two squads covering them from the land side of the bridge Mike and his team moved away from their position and into a residential area. Then sprinting across a road that led to the bridge they moved into the large parking lot for the cruise ship line. There were numerous abandoned vehicles so they were able to dodge about and stay in cover making it to the building without attracting any attention. Now came the moment of truth. Mike had been praying there'd be a suitable boat available or they'd be trudging back to the bridge prematurely. Rounding a corner of the building they found tied to the dock what looked like a harbor master's launch. The small tender had an enclosed cabin and would fit the whole team comfortably.

"Ortega, fire this thing up and prep to go," Mike ordered the Private who he knew had a family background as a fisherman. "The rest of you cast off the lines."

The sound of the Marine mortars steadily firing, supported by their machine guns and being responded to by alien counter-fire meant Mike had to yell to be heard by the members of his team. A growing fog from explosions and smoke canisters began to shroud the view of the channel separating the island from the mainland. It was exactly what Mike had hoped for.

So under the cover of a firefight going on above them, the team slipped across the channel and landed unobserved on the other side. Using ropes and grapnel hooks they climbed up the steep sea wall then made their way in open order after securing the boat and hiding their ropes. They were across now making their way towards the heart of Terminal Island.

LCol Ritchie and Captain Harvel observed the crossing only because they knew where to look, catching glimpses of them through the fog. Satisfied the team seeking the generator was away they called their troops at the other end of the bridge back and ordered the mortars to cease fire. Unfortunately they'd stirred the hornet's nest so the aliens pressed them not only from the island side but a new group at least company size engaged them on the land side of the bridge coming out of the area containing storage containers that they'd used to hide before shooting down the Delta Force helicopters. With the company's ranks depleted LCol Ritchie and his headquarters team were pressed into action, bolstering the forces trying to hold the end of the bridge. Though pinned down the Marines had a good defensive position so the alien attackers were not able to get close enough to be a significant threat. Yet the defending officers knew that if the aliens continued to press the Marines would have to dig in to hold until relief arrived. Six hours couldn't come fast enough.

As things started to get touchy for the bridge defenders the intensity of firefight again slowed down to random grenade and machine gun attacks, probing the line for weakness. They were being given a breather as the aliens seemed to pull back to reorganize their attack.

"Sir!" the company radio operator called out to Captain Harvel, "I'm picking up a SART hit on the rescue net."

"Who's it from?" Harvel asked, ducking his way over to where his company HQ had been set up.

"Check's out from the F14 that got hit by the shield earlier. The transponder appears to be from the Radar Intercept Officer sir. Seems he's about four klicks out."

"Okay, call it into the Tac headquarters and have them send a SAR team to get him out."

"Roger that." The radio operator changed frequencies and put in the request. The conversation took longer then expected until finally the Signals Corporal returned with a frustrated look on his face. "No go on a rescue bird sir. Command says it's too hot plus they have nothing available. Things are apparently heating up at the front."

"Okay. Switch back to monitoring the battalion net," Harvel ordered, shifting his focus back to the disposition of his troops.

"What's going on?" LCol Ritchie demanded, injecting into the conversation. "I heard we got a rescue signal from a downed pilot."

"Yes sir, we did. But HQ isn't able to send a rescue bird," the company commander answered.

"How far out?" Ritchie asked.

"Just over four klicks."

"All right then, we're going to go get him."

"What sir? You can't be serious," Harvel responded in surprise. "That area's crawling with aliens. We can't take the risk."

"And I won't leave any man behind enemy lines for the squids."

"I know that Captain," Ritchie shot back, glaring at the officer. "Regardless, I'm not going to leave that man alone. I want a team to go out and get him."

"Any suggestions?" Harvel asked coldly.

"As a matter of fact I do," Ritchie held his ground, not flinching as an alien grenade impacted several meters away. "Gordon's platoon has had its command structure gutted. Send him and a team to get the man. Roll the rest of them into Flannigan's platoon. We've got a lull in the action. They can be there and back in an hour. Get it done and get it done quickly."

The battalion commander looked at his uncertain subordinate and could see the uncertainly. Pulling him in closer he said in a low voice. "We need the morale boost Bill. With part of the company already gone, Delta down, Nantz's team away, things are going into the crapper here and the troops are on a razor's edge. We need to show we can strike back and do this."

Captain Harvel got the point immediately and his face reddened in embarrassment for not figuring that out himself. "I understand sir. Sorry I doubted, I…"

Ritchie cut him off. "No time for that son. Let's get the initiative back."

Harvel nodded his head with vigor. "Yes sir. Gordon!" he called out. "On me."

Lt. Gordon moved over and received the orders. He didn't share his feelings on the matter instead taking in the orders and all the information he could get.

"Put your team together and get moving right away," Captain Harvel stated, signaling the time for action. "Anything else you need?"

"Just a Corpsman in case the pilot is injured," Gordon answered. "Adukwu, grab your bag, you're coming with us."

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

Father Alexander slumped into the chair in his small office just off from the chapel and massaged his temples with his hands. Fatigue hung heavy on him, like a blanket. The chapel was quiet; no one had been around lately since most in the headquarters area were occupied with the current attempt to break the stalemate. That suited him fine since it allowed him to be out almost constantly the past two days searching for clues to the whereabouts of Hector.

All his efforts had proven unfruitful. The priest found people cooperative but despite his best efforts none could help him. Bitter disappointment welled up like bile while fear for the innocent boy grew. "What are you doing God?" he called out in frustration. He looked at the crucifix on the wall opposite his desk silently staring at him and he felt like a failure.

There was a quiet knock at the door.

Startled from his pained musings Father Alexander got up to see who had come to see him. He was surprised to find a well dressed young Latino man standing before him. Though the priest had little interest in clothes he could tell expensive ones when he saw them. The man in his twenties had slicked-back black hair and wore an expensive gold watch and chain. The faint odor of cologne filled the air. Yet despite the picture of prosperity there was something unusual about the confident looking man. His eyes seemed dull and lifeless, looking closer the priest could also detect some redness and puffiness, like he'd been crying.

"How can I help you?" Father Alexander asked curiously.

"I'd like to make my confession Father," the man declared.

"I'm a military chaplain son. But I could introduce you to a priest not far from here if you'd like."

"No, I'd like it to be you I confess my sins to," the man replied, becoming increasingly nervous. "And…I've heard you've been asking around about a boy who's been missing. I think I can help you with that."

"Who are you?" Father Alexander asked suspiciously.

"My name is Raul Santos. I've…I've been dealing drugs and doing other bad stuff. I've been profiting from the war."

"So why are you here?"

"I'm not a bad person…or I wasn't once upon a time. I made some bad choices…hung out with some bad people…I was weak and gave into temptation. I want to make things right with God. I want to go on a different path. Maybe helping you to find the boy might be a step in the right direction," Raul declared.

"Why the change in attitude?" Father Alexander asked, uncertain about the sincerity of what he was hearing.

Raul began to weep. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing could come out in his anguish. Father Alexander waited for the tormented man to calm down, praying silently for wisdom.

Finally Raul took a deep breath, shuddered, then seemed to regain control. "I have a cousin, in the Air Force. I found out she volunteered to go back to the front, into a combat situation, even though she'd been injured before and didn't have to," he explained. "I've worked hard to be a man people fear and yet I see I'm a coward compared to her."

"Okay."

"But then…but then….in the last day I found out my best friend was killed at the front. We joined the Marines together right out of high school. He stuck with it but I quit during Basic. I didn't want anyone telling me what to do. I came back to LA and started….well, you know," the young man confessed. "We were tight though…bros. He kept trying to get me to fly right. And he died on the line defending people like me. Then last night my grandmother died. She just couldn't take anymore heartbreak. She'd always believed in me, believed that I could be more but I wasn't," he hung his head and tears splashed on the tile floor. "I have all this stuff and I have NOTHING," he screamed. "Everyone who has ever believed in me is gone."

"God still believes in you," the Priest whispered.

"That's why I'm here," the anguished man replied. "I want to change, make something positive of my life."

"Tell me how I can find Hector," Father Alexander got to the point.

"Have you ever heard of the Foundry?" Raul asked, gaining control of his emotions.

The priest had indeed heard the name. As little as he'd found out about Hector, the more he kept hearing about a place called 'The Foundry' that was outside the protection zone, a place people whispered about with awe and fright, a place where people who wanted to follow their own rules went. "Yes, I have," he answered quietly.

"That's where he's been taken," the man trying to make things right with God stated.

"How do you know all this?" Father Alexander asked, curiosity growing.

"Maria Rincon worked for me sometimes. She had the boy, Hector's his name right? She had him run courier for me, do some drops, stuff like that. I know she paid off some punk named Javier a few days to help her with something and has disappeared. That's the only place people can go around here and do that. He has to be there."

"And you can show me where this place is?"

"Yes."

Father Alexander closed his eyes and pondered the information. He knew in his heart this was where Hector had been taken. "Thank you Raul, this is very helpful."

"Then you'll hear my confession?" Raul asked eagerly.

"Yes, I will. But first, there's some things you need to do to get right with God. You need to turn from your life of crime."

"I don't want to do that anymore," the young man affirmed, resolution in his voice.

"And you need to turn yourself into the police," the priest stated bluntly.

"What? Are you crazy?" Raul jumped from his chair aggressively, eyes wild. "I don't want to go to prison."

"It's the right thing to do," Father Alexander countered. "You know you have to do that. You need to come clean and be honest. Only then will you honor your friend and your grandmother. And I'll speak for you and stand with you."

"You'd stay with me?" the troubled man asked in surprise.

"All the way," Father Alexander answered confidently.

The young man blinked several times then wiped a tear from his eye. "Okay. I'll do it," he said firmly.

Placing his hand tenderly on Raul's shoulder the priest felt his heart gripped at the courage of the young man. Optimism returned. "Kneel down and confess to God."

"Father forgive me for I have sinned….," Raul began. Despite the tears now streaming down his face he seemed to be at peace.


	45. Chapter 45 A little more then six hours

**Chapter 45 A little more then six hours**

Despite the offensive going on things were still humming at the headquarters of the 185th MP Battalion with the details of maintaining order in the rear area continuing unchecked. There was military and civilian traffic to organize, crimes to investigate and civil affairs to work out with the remnants of the LAPD who had been rolled into this unit. Though under martial law the refugee city and rear area were being patrolled by civilian police as much as possible in an attempt to suggest some form of normalcy. But after the efforts by Senator Gary Sharpe to force civil government on the military district collapsed at his death during his premature attempts to establish peace with their vicious assailant things had gone back to the status quo.

Father Alexander arrived at the two-story building which used to house an accounting firm with an increasingly nervous Raul Santos. After being forced to wait while others ahead of him were allowed to make inquiry he requested the chance to speak with an MP Officer he'd worked with on several occasions in the last four months. The Sergeant manning the front desk put in call to Lt. Gwen Langois.

Langois was a female Cajun from Louisiana originally. Though small in stature the intensity of her look and passionate conviction intimidated many much larger then her. She was no-nonsense but also a cop the priest knew could be counted on.

"Father Alexander," Langois said in her thick Cajun drawl as she invited the pair to come into her cubicle. She was all professional from her blonde hair back in a tight bun to her crisp uniform. "Good to see you again. I'm sorry ah can't give ye any more information on the missing boy." Then she noticed Raul standing behind him and instantly her easy manner was gone, replaced by a cool demeanor. "And what do we have here?"

"This is Raul, Lt. Langois," the priest answered. "He can help us find Hector I believe."

"Oh can he now?" she drawled with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. The MP stood up and came from behind her desk drilling the Latino with an unblinking gaze which caused the confident man to shrink back under the glare of her piercing blue eyes. "And just what do ye know about this, boy?" she demanded.

Raul gulped. "I believe he's been taken to a place called the Foundry. Have you heard of it?"

"Oh, ah've heard of it all right. The question is: how do you know about it?"

"Well…I…"

"What did you say your last name was again?" Langois asked.

"Santos. Raul Santos."

"Hmm." The MP returned to her desk but didn't sit down. With one hand she tapped lightly on her laptop, the other hand rested on the butt of her M9 9mm pistol. "Mr. Santos, ah want to thank you for your information but ah'm afraid ah'll have to ask you to put your hands on your head."

"Lieutenant, please," Father Alexander implored. "I know of his criminal activities. He wants to turn from them and is willing to co-operate fully with you. But he can also help us find Hector. Please, just wait until that is done."

The MP rubbed the small gold crucifix that hung around her neck as she pondered the situation and the request that had been made. "Can you direct us to where this Foundry is?" she asked quietly, watching his eyes closely. "Can you also provide us with information on who took him and what we might find when we get there?"

"Yes, I can and I will. I will help any way I can," Raul declared, matching her gaze.

Langois thought again. "Okay. I'll release you to Father Alexander but when this is done we're going to have a talk, be sure of it."

"I understand," Raul responded forlornly.

"That won't be necessary," Father Alexander interjected, "he'll be coming with us."

"He's what?"

"I'm what?" the two responded simultaneously.

"He knows the place and he knows the people. I think we need him," the priest reasoned.

"This is a bad idea Father," Langois countered, her eyes bulging angrily.

"She's right, listen to her," Raul added, clearly uncomfortable with the proposal.

"Shut up you!" Langois hissed. "Ah don't want your input. This man is a criminal and not to be trusted. He could turn on us out there. The place is no-man's land. He has to stay here."

"I've heard his confession and I trust him," Father Alexander countered. "Gwen please, trust me."

Oh, mon dieu," Langois responded in frustration, making the sign of the cross. "You know ah can't resist a priest. Very well. He can come." Then to Raul she fixed him with a steely glare. "Understand this boy, I will be watching you with both eyes and know this: ah always carry a back-up piece."

**Axis of Advance, Florence, Los Angeles**

In hindsight they should have seen it coming. The initial assault of the 1 Stryker BCT from the 1st Armored Division had gone much better then expected. Rather then move cautiously they pressed forward rapidly and ahead of schedule believing alien resistance to have totally collapsed.

They were wrong.

Several miles from the front and with an extended line the advancing tanks and AFV's got hit. First they found that at least five blocks worth of the Harbor Freeway had been destroyed forcing the main body onto side streets. Then they had been attacked in densely packed residential neighborhoods but had been able to push through with light casualties. But passing Slauson Avenue the lead squadrons got into an industrial area that the aliens had set up with numerous guns forcing the Armored Brigade to narrow their front back into the confines of another residential neighborhood. Once they passed into this zone the aliens not only stiffened but began to push back unleashing a fierce counter-attack.

It seemed as if some message had been sent to all the alien units because virtually at the same time they began to fight back in earnest. Whether this had been a prepared strategy or something they came up with on the fly didn't matter. A number of Walking Guns and hovercrafts mounting deadly Multi-Purpose Weapons supported by fresh battalions of infantry caste aliens hit both sides of the advancing humans simultaneously in a vicious pincer move. At the same time several squadrons of Wedge Ships roared into the theatre to neutralize and tie-up the human air cover.

The advance ground to a halt.

1st Stryker was forced to do a fighting withdrawal back beyond Slauson and had to move back a half mile to East 55th Street in order to be in a position where they could fight back effectively. Every block they were opposed and casualties began to mount but they had little choice in the matter. Advance at this point was impossible until the bulk of the assaulting force caught up. If they'd continued they risked having the head of the assault cut off. So forced to stop, they fought back against the alien counter-attack setting up a hasty command post at the South LA Wetland Park.

Unfortunately, the rest of 1st Armored and the 101st Airborne were in not much better shape. Alien troops, vehicles and air support materialized countering the offensive along a broad front. Advanced human elements found themselves cut off so desperate calls for support began to light up the airwaves of their tactical radios.

Even worse, reports coming into headquarters from satellites and AWAC surveillance aircraft seemed to indicate that the alien's shield appeared to be moving out from Terminal Island and towards them. Hasty requests were sent to confirm this unsettling detail.

The commander of the 1st Armored Task Force received reports from all his elements and began to formulate a response. Of particular concern to the seasoned combat leader was the predicament of 1st Stryker. The whole operation hinged on them being mobile, striking deep and linking up with the Marines at Terminal Island. Having to dig in and hold a position would not win the day.

"We need some help here," Brigadier General Cooper from 1st Armored reported over the net, knowing they couldn't do it alone. "We're engaged along our axis of advance and 1st Stryker is fouled ahead of us."

"You boys hang tight," Major General McConville from the 101st responded. "We'll bring some air support to you and also I can push my reserve brigade to your lead elements to help unplug the cork. Can you hold your position and provide flanking cover so they can get there?"

Cooper looked at his support staff who nodded in agreement. "Yea, we can do that. Our other elements can hold so you can bolster 1st Stryker."

"Good, you hang tough Pete," McConville encouraged the beleaguered officer. "We'll be there as soon as we can."

"I'd appreciate that Jim. We've lost the momentum and I'm afraid we've also lost the timetable for this operation. I don't want to leave those guys at the bridge unsupported," Cooper commented.

"Well, one step at a time. We need to make sure this whole offensive doesn't fall apart and we get rolled back," McConville replied.

Back at the theatre headquarters General Daily monitored the conversations taking place with a concerned look on his face. He didn't add any comment since he wanted to allow the commanders on the ground the liberty to run things as they saw fit. He trusted them both and trusted their judgment. They were closer to the action and needed to make the ultimate call. Still, that didn't mean he had to sit back and do nothing.

"I want us to re-establish air superiority," the Marine General called out to the Air Force Colonel who acted as a liaison. "I want additional fighter intercept squadrons up and flying cover. Push those damn Wedge Ships back so we can support the ground troops. Also, see if there are any bombers available to hit the squids new position before 101st gets to 1st Stryker."

The Air Force officer turned to his laptop and began to tap out a series of orders avoiding eye contact with the theatre commander. Everyone in the operations room could feel the tension grow and the hoped-for victory slipping from their grasp.

"What do we have to provide support on the ground if things go south?" Daily asked his G-3, Brigadier General Grayback, quietly.

"Not much sir," the General replied with a thinly veiled smirk that said 'I told you so'. "We can pull together a few battalions of infantry and likely four squadrons of armor. The rest are committed to the original defensive line and maintaining it…if needed of course."

"All right. Keep monitoring. I want assessments and asset status reports every fifteen minutes. Got it?" Daily declared, trying not to sound exasperated.

"Yes sir," General Grayback fixed a glare at Captain Blatchford who hung around the periphery of the command group with a frustrated look on her face and added, "I guess its going to take a bit more then six hours for this mission."

**San Pedro neighborhood, near Terminal Island**

"Hey L.T., is the shield moving?" a Marine Lance Corporal asked Lt. Gordon as they moved along West 13th Street. "Because it looks like it's following us."

Gordon looked up from the first time, almost afraid to take his eyes off the arc he'd been sweeping. His team that had been sent out to rescue the downed F14 RIO had not been harassed as they'd anticipated when they left their defensive position at the land side of the Vincent Thomas Bridge. They knew there were aliens in the area, and between them, since they'd been attacked several times from this area earlier yet now things were quiet.

Looking up the platoon leader confirmed what he'd just been told-the shield was indeed moving. "You're right Baker," he replied, "it is moving. That's weird."

"Should we call it in?"

"No, we need to stay off the radios. The Captain and the Colonel will be able to see it too and they can decide what to do. We need to stay focused on our mission," Gordon commented grimly. He knew how exposed they were so didn't want any other complications.

Moving in a spread formation the small rescue team tried to move in quick bounds and lose themselves in the residential neighborhood around them. They weren't looking for a fight but to move fast, get the downed pilot and get back as fast as they could.

Watching their flanks the two squads that made up the team followed the transponder signal their radio operator had a fix on until they spotted a thin plume of grey smoke rising in the air from the backyard of an attractive home.

"Sir, we found the bird," a Marine who'd been on point jogged back to report.

The rescue team moved cautiously to the crash site. Gordon ordered one squad to patrol the perimeter while the other pressed forward to the wreckage in search of the downed flyer whose signal they'd picked up.

The wreck of the F14 Tomcat had cut an ugly scar into the ground. Where once an attractive garden had been someone's pride and joy now it was turned up into raw topsoil. Rose pedals from a destroyed prized rose bush were strewn about as if blown up. The nose of the war bird was crumpled and one of the wings bent, likely from the impact of the shield. The canopy was missing and a pilot sat slumped forward in his harness in the pilot's seat.

"Defensive formation, I want a twenty-five meter perimeter around this yard," Lt. Gordon ordered his troops. "LMGs cover the approaches. Look sharp everyone. Doc, check out the pilot."

As the Marines fanned out and moved quickly into position the stillness around them became unnerving. Doc Adukwu trotted over and climbed up to the cockpit. Before he checked the vital signs of the pilot whose nickname painted on the side of the plane was 'Grunge' he knew he was dead. The Corpsman made certain then hopped down to report to the platoon leader.

"The pilot is dead sir," he reported in his thick African accent. "His emergency transponder does not seem to be active. The back seat is missing though."

Gordon raised his hand and snapped his finger twice. The platoon radio operator trotted over. "See if you can get a tighter location on the SART signal. This isn't it."

The Corporal fiddled with his equipment for a moment. "I got a fix on an active transponder. Five hundred meters out, at thirty degrees."

"Saddle up," the platoon commander ordered calling the other squad in. "Diamond formation but keep it loose. It's too quiet."

Continuing to move tensely in residential area they passed through a recreational complex that caused the Marines to twitch. Though everything continued to be quiet they felt as if they were being watched, like a cat observing a mouse. Those in the lead involuntarily picked up the pace in order to get to the location of the transponder signal. Moving from the place marked Daniels Field they passed through another neighborhood then towards a school with the sign Dana Middle School emblazoned on it.

"Thirty meters sir," the radio operator almost whispered. "It should be at the back of the school."

Moving forward in pairs, weapons scanning all directions, the team moved to the side playground of the school. It was all black asphalt and laid out as basketball courts. Off to the side of the center court they saw a brightly colored parachute on the ground, partially covering an airplane ejection seat.

"Doc, check it out," Gordon ordered. "Collins, Sanchez, go with him. Everyone else spread out and watch the corners. This place stinks."

Taking a deep breath, Doc trotted over to the seat whose bottom was facing him. Not knowing what he'd find the Corpsman approached cautiously while the two Privates with him kept their weapons trained on the seat. Peering around he saw a Navy officer slumped forward in his seat. He could see the transponder blinking an active signal. The flyer seemed dead but he needed to check it out. Feeling for a pulse Doc almost had a heart attack when the RIO gasped loudly and sat suddenly back in his seat. In surprise Sanchez almost shot the man instinctively.

"Who are you?" the RIO croaked.

"Friends, Marines," Doc replied, checking his pulse. "I'm a Corpsman. What's your name?"

"Lewis, Michael Lewis," the flyer answered.

Doc could see from his uniform he was an Ensign and looked young for how old he should be. "Are you hurt?"

"I don't know," Lewis answered. My back hurts and my legs are numb. I'm not sure if I can move them."

Lt. Gordon had come over, seeing the movement at the seat to investigate. "What do we have Doc?"

"He's alive sir but I'm not sure what shape he's in. I was about to get him out of his harness." Checking for obstructions, Doc Adukwu then carefully released the RIO from his restraining harness. Lewis fell forward and into the Corpsman's strong arms with a yelp of sharp pain.

"I can't move my legs," the Navy flier reported through gritted teeth.

Gordon looked up into the sunny sky and cursed to himself. "Austen, LaGuardia, bring the stretcher. We'll need to carry him out."

The radio operator came over. "Should we let the Captain know?"

"Negative. Let's get him buttoned up ASAP and move out fast. If the squids are reading our comms again I don't want them to get a fix on our position. Though something tells me they already know we're here."

As if prophetically, a Marine from the left called out: "Contact, nine o'clock."

**Somewhere on Terminal Island**

So far Mike and his team had been lucky. Maybe it was skill or maybe someone was watching over them but regardless, the group seeking the alien shield generator had moved undetected from the channel inland onto Terminal Island. Right now the eight man team was hunkered down in a small fish processing facility waiting for a dozen infantry caste aliens to move past. This was the third such party they'd spotted in the last fifteen minutes. Each had appeared to be on a set patrol route. This was a good sign since it seemed to indicate they were unaware of how close the Marines actually were.

Terminal Island was in the shape of an inverted boot with a long causeway at the center leading to another spur at the bottom of the island. Mike prayed the generator wasn't down there.

They'd thought they hit pay dirt early on when they spotted a heavily defended area but seeing the large bulbous Water Extractors he knew they were mining water from the island's water reclamation facility. The number engaged though seemed to show a certain sense of urgency by the alien invaders.

They'd moved across Terminal Way and now had hidden themselves among some low-rise buildings watching the alien patrol moving along Cannery Street. The report that alien ground forces in the area were light had turned out to be incorrect. So far they'd seen indications of at least a battalions worth of infantry caste aliens along with several companies of intelligence caste and a large number that appeared to be engineers. From the activity going on it seemed as if they were preparing to receive a large number of ships. Already they'd seen numerous spacecraft docked along some of the inland waterways. This gave a grim reminder to the Marines watching that the clock was ticking and in a matter of days another large armada was expected. Failure or withdrawal was not an option.

"So what now Gunny?" Lockett asked quietly.

Mike looked around to see if he could get a fix on where the shield that was evident above them originated but there didn't seem to be any center point or central core. A chilling thought occurred to him: what if it wasn't simply 'one generator' but a series that brought the shield to life? He wondered if anyone had even considered that possibility. Likely not, he thought.

"Deeper into the island," Mike answered, "towards the causeway."


	46. Chapter 46 Retreat Hell!

**Chapter 46 Retreat Hell!**

**Somewhere on Terminal Island, LA**

The patrol made up of alien infantry caste fighters suddenly stopped and scanned the area, the sound of their weapons heating up rising above the excited chirps and whirring sounds they made. The aliens seemed to sense some presence nearby but couldn't seem to find anything. After several minutes of shuffling back and forth an officer caste alien came up to the group and seemed to upbraid them so the group reformed and continued shuffling down the road.

Mike and the rest of the Marines breathed a deep sigh of relief and eased their fingers off the triggers of their weapons. Coming out of their hiding spot on the side of the road on the island they continued to move gliding from shadow to shadow in the mid-day sun.

The small team pushed deeper into Terminal Island in search of the alien shield generator meaning their places to hide were becoming scarcer. So far the Marines had not been discovered but each knew it was only a matter of time. Several hours had gone by and despite their efforts to cover the peninsula still they'd found nothing that seemed like a generator. After the sobering discovery at the main water treatment plant they'd moved west sweeping that part of the multi-pronged island still coming up with nothing.

Mike could feel sweat running down his back not only from the exertion but the mounting pressure of the operation. He knew the defenders of LA's ability to stop the coming alien horde hinged on their success. They'd not found anything and he began to feel they'd be forced to go into the extreme south end which was certain to give them away.

Hiding in a forest of shipping containers to the west of the main causeway they were given a good view of the narrow strip leading south towards the ocean in addition to the area around them. So with cover the team stopped to scan the area they could see looking for any clues. All around the chirping and warbling sounds of aliens going about their business could be heard causing the Marines a new level of anxiety.

"Gunny this place crawls," Imlay whispered urgently.

"Yea, so much for light resistance," Lockett added.

"Now you wouldn't want it to be easy would you? There'd be no challenge to it," Mike deadpanned, trying to ease the tension they all felt. Despite the gravity and risk of the situation he felt alive again, like he hadn't in months. Finally he was back in his element, with people he trusted, doing what he did best. "Santos, anything?" he asked the Air Force Tech Sergeant scanning the area with a set of binoculars.

She paused they fiddled with a small device she carried, toggling a few switches, finally twisting one savagely in frustration. "Nada. Nothing," she spat out. "I'm getting no energy readings, radiation, nothing. If this thing's here is should give off some sort of reading."

"Maybe the power source is shielded too," Cpl. Harris speculated, coming to join the group. "I mean we spanked them the last time when we hit their C-and-C station. Maybe they learned and are masking it."

That thought didn't encourage Mike. If this were the case they'd need to literally walk up to it in order to discover it. "All right. We need to look for anything irregular, out of place. We're not likely going to be able to find it without boots on the ground. So scan the area then prep to move."

"Do you see that?" Lockett asked in a low voice, pointing to the causeway that he'd been watching.

"Yea, I do," Mike answered, several grim realities hitting him simultaneously like a flash data dump.

"What is it?" the African American NCO asked in confusion.

"Looks like some sort of docking facility," Harris answered.

On the long, narrow causeway dozens of aliens could be seen busily working along the ribbon connecting the main part of the island to the smaller outer area. As far as the eye could see what looked like cranes and recovery equipment were clearly being set up at regular intervals along both sides of the causeway pointing out to the water on either side.

"Why do they need something like that if they can just come out of the water?" Imlay asked. "It doesn't seem necessary."

"It's not unless you got a lot more to offload," Mike responded, feeling a sudden chill. "They're building a harbor here for a lot of squids."

"Damn…" Lockett breathed, the realization of what they were seeing hitting him like a hammer. "That means…,"

"We need to get hustling," Mike answered. "And the causeway is closed to us."

"So how are we going to get to the other part of the island?" Imlay asked in growing frustration.

"We're going to have to swim," Mike responded grimly.

**San Pedro neighborhood, near Terminal Island**

"Contact!"

Almost before the words of warning left the Marine on perimeter security's mouth alien machine gun fire opened up. The leathernecks in the rescue party scrambled for cover as rounds skipped off the pavement in the school playground while tracer fire flitted through the air.

"Move, move, move!" Lt. Gordon ordered. "Rolling withdrawal all the way back to the bridge. Collins, Sanchez, cover the stretcher."

Privates LaGuardia and Austen picked up the injured RIO strapped into the stretcher and began to trot as fast as they could along the corridor of protection the other Marines provided. Doc ran along side shielding the vulnerable flyer with his body as best he could. Aliens seemed to pop in and out of cover along the path as the rescue team continued to press on. Gordon kept the men moving and tight. Despite them being outnumbered and outgunned his keen tactical sense kept them steadily moving towards safety. Their LMG gunner maintained a steady rate of fire sweeping back and forth to clear the way while the other Marines engaged targets of opportunity all the while moving as fast as the stretcher bearers could move. Ensign Lewis grimaced in pain as he was jarred up and down in the stretcher but remained silent, his eyes wide in fear as he experienced combat at this level for the first time in his life.

The upper spans of the Vincent Thomas Bridge could be seen above the trees to their front and they began to believe they'd actually make it. Moving though from one side street to a more major thoroughfare, the rescue team ran into an alien Walking Gun waiting for them.

_Thump Thump Thump_

A salvo of deadly grenades flew through the air landing around their position.

"Cover! Find cover," Lt. Gordon screamed.

The tight formation of Marines was broken up as they scattered looking for cover. A chain of explosions tore up dirt, pavement and ignited several abandoned cars along the road. While none of the Marines received more then a minor shrapnel wound thanks to the quick response of the platoon commander their progress was halted.

Smoke from several exploded cars was carried on the stiff ocean breeze beginning to obscure vision or perhaps it was mingled with a smoke grenade. None took the time to figure it out in the scramble to get away from the deadly alien heavy weapon.

Collins and Sanchez whirled about firing bursts in all directions, not certain where the increasing alien fire was coming from. Austen and LaGuardia began to move again with the stretcher as quickly as they could while Doc shielded the wounded RIO's body with his.

"They're all around us," Collins yelled in panic.

"Keep moving," Doc countered, "don't stop. We have to get back with the rest."

A grenade whizzed overhead and exploded on the opposite side of the street, turning a small tree into splinters.

Collins panicked and dropped to the prone position firing his weapon on full auto.

"Keep moving," Doc screamed as the others were forced to stop to keep from running over him.

Momentum finished, they group became sitting ducks. Austen grunted as his chest exploded from two machine gun rounds, knocking him backwards onto the stretcher. Two grenades landed nearby so Doc instinctively threw himself over Ensign Lewis to try to protect him from the blast. LaGuardia was shredded by the blast and fell on top of Doc who felt half a dozen lances of pain as fragments hit him. Sanchez went down in a hail of machine gun fire while Collins scrambled to get up then ran away without looking back until he reconnected with the rest of the rescue team half a block away.

"Where's Doc and the pilot?" Lt. Gordon asked, squeezing off a burst from his M4 as the Private came charging into the group.

"They're gone," Collins answered panicky, ducking as an alien propelled grenade exploded nearby.

"You're sure of that?"

"Yea," he shot back, "I saw it. Let's bug out."

Gordon held his ground. He balled his fist in frustration knowing what was to come. He'd heard the whispers and the rumors too. _Widow maker. _This was the last nail in the coffin. He wanted to push back and at least recover the bodies but with over half his team wounded or down he had no way to carry the dead and maintain the fight. _Maybe it would be better to go out with them_ he thought to himself. Looking around at the remaining Marines doggedly defending themselves he knew that was the selfish option. He could see a fresh batch of aliens trying to work their way into position to cut off their avenue of withdrawal and knew he had no option.

"Fall back to the bridge, fighting withdrawal, stay tight."

Ears still ringing, Doc looked around but saw no movement. Lewis lay still but continued to breathe heavily. Pushing the dead men on top of him aside the Corpsman grabbed an M4 nearby then panned 180 degrees but there didn't seem to be any immediate threat. Beads of perspiration broke into a sweat as he waited for a resumption of the shooting that had shredded their group. None came.

Doc crawled to the crumpled Marines lying around the stretcher and checked their pulses. All three were dead. His eyes welled up with tears and he punched the ground with his fist recalling their heroic stand at the same time remembering Collins running away. He could hear small arms fire a block over. The smoke had cleared but nothing could be seen other then houses. _Maybe they think we're all dead _the Corpsman wondered to himself.

Doc Adukwu didn't give his next move a thought. He knew what he needed to do.

The Corpsman gathered several more mags of ammunition from his fallen comrades then began to unstrap the Navy RIO from the stretcher.

"What are you doing?" Ensign Lewis groaned.

"I'm getting you out of here," Doc replied in his soft African accent.

"Forget it. The squids are between us and the bridge. Leave me and save yourself. I'm done anyway."

"What do you mean?" Doc asked, suddenly award the RIO's face was going pale. He then looked and saw blood seeping out of the man's flight suit just up from his hip. It looked like a piece of shrapnel had hit him.

"I'm not going to make it," Lewis answered, his voice fading. "Tell my wife and daughter I love them."

"No! You are not going to die. Too many have already. You going to live," Doc declared with determination through glassy eyes.

Forgetting what was going on around them he came up to a kneeling position, then dug into his pack picking out a probe and pair of forceps. He ripped the suit back then went after the piece of shrapnel. Lewis winced, gritting his teeth but didn't cry out.

"Got it!" Doc declared triumphantly, pulling out the piece of metal, and then packing the wound with several field dressings.

"I don't want to die out here!" Lewis cried, suddenly changing his tone. "I want to see my family again."

"I won't let that happen. Come on, we're getting out of here!" Doc picked up the flyer in one smooth motion, throwing him over his shoulder into a fireman's carry. With one arm steadying the wounded Ensign and the other holding an M4 Doc Adukwu slowly began to try to make their way to safety.

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

"More casualties coming in," an orderly reported to the surgery area. "Triage is backing up; you need to pick up the pace."

"We're working as fast as we can," Dr. Chevreau snarled back, red-ringed eyes glaring. "The main military hospital needs to take up the slack."

"They're already overloaded," the orderly replied. "We're receiving their surplus."

"So many casualties," Kelly mused, moving a wounded soldier to make room for another.

"I guess things aren't going well at the front," another nurse mused.

"Well I heard the attack has totally stalled and the lead groups are having to pull back. They may dig into a new defensive position," a third added, changing the dressing on a wounded soldier as she talked.

Michele was taking it all in as she assisted with post-op patients. As hard as she tried to not listen she found herself getting drawn in, panic creeping in like the walls of a cage getting taller. _What about Mike and the guys who went in deep? If they pull back what happens to them?_ She looked at the ring on her finger and wondered if Mike was even alive. She thought for a moment and knew in her heart he still was.

But for how long?

Had she made a mistake saying yes to his marriage proposal? Had they both been presumptuous? "For better or for worse," she whispered to herself. "For better or for worse," and carried on with her work.

**Area Command Headquarters, Los Angeles Theatre of Operations**

"So, where are we at?" General Daily asked his command staff

"We're bogged down. Progress has stalled at the front and casualties have mounted. The aliens have blocked the advance it appears while the shield at Terminal Island continues to push out incrementally. Much longer and the troops there will be trapped," Col. Weeks reported without emotion.

"Okay, so what does that mean to you?" General Daily asked, feeling suddenly tired.

"It means we're stuck. We should consolidate," General Grayback answered stepping in. "We've made some great progress and given our rear area a nice buffer zone picking up several new neighborhoods in the process. That means we can establish new lines farther away from the rear. We may not have achieved what we set out for but we're in a good position to call this a tactical victory."

"Sir, we need to continue to push on," Captain Blatchford interjected, joining the conversation. "If we don't win this before the squids are reinforced it won't matter where our lines are. We'll be screwed either way," she declared passionately.

"You've been banging that same drum for too long now Christie. That may make for a good story but it's about time you left this to the professionals," Grayback shot back derisively.

"Yea, and it's about time you find some aggressiveness and stop holding back, because that's a formula for defeat. We're running out of time," she countered angrily, then added, "sir."

Grayback's eyes flared angrily as Colonel Weeks and the feisty intelligence officer began to spar over the plan of attack.

Daily wished General McConville was with them rather then out with the 101st. He could have used his counsel as he watched his staff bicker back and forth. "Enough!" he yelled, getting everyone's attention in the room. "Enough of this crap. We don't have the luxury or time for this. We need to start working together or by God we're done. So all of you, grow up and start thinking. I need solutions. Holding the line is not an option. There is no time to buy but we may need a new approach including bringing in our reserves."

"What about the Marines at the bridge? They're running out of time," Blatchford asked, still not wanting to back down.

Daily thought about it, looking at the Reserve officer who had proposed the bold plan in the first place and could see the pain in her eyes. He knew what she was feeling, how she carried a burden of guilt for proposing the men be sent on the dangerous mission and could empathize with her. "Have them blow the bridges and pull them out. Get Colonel Ritchie on the horn. I'll talk to him personally."

The connection was established quickly. The theatre commander could hear the sound of intense explosions and small arm fire in the background. The Marine General felt a pang of guilt for those who were now suffering for his inability to successfully enact the plan. He'd promised them relief in six hours, they'd kitted themselves out for that contingency. Now not only would no one be there in six hours they might not even be able to pull them out with the level of fighting going on and the shield moving. _No time for that,_ he thought.

Colonel Ritchie on the comms, sir," a communications NCO reported, handing the General the handset.

"Colonel, the attacks bogged down and we're not going to be able to relieve you in six hours as planned," Daily reported, getting straight to the point.

If the disappointing news had surprised the Marine officer he didn't let on. "When can we expect relief then sir?" he asked in return.

"Unknown. We're working on solutions right now but it might be some time," Daily answered as honestly as he could. "What's your sitrep?"

"We're holding our positions so far. Both ends of the bridge though have come under consistent attack. Our ability to reinforce is limited as a result. The enemy is in stronger numbers then we were led to believe but we have good position. Unfortunately we've also not been able to link the company up so we're fighting as two separate entities."

"How long can you hold?" the commander asked, regretting what he was about to order.

"As long as our ammo holds out sir we'll keep the squids at bay," Ritchie responded confidently.

"We have reports the shield is spreading outward."

"Yes, we can confirm that. It's likely half a klick out from its first position and expanding slowly," the LCol answered.

"All right then. I'm pulling the plug on your mission. I'm ordering you to withdraw." The words stuck in Daily's throat, tasting like bile.

"Say again, sir," Ritchie responded, surprise in his voice. "Repeat last."

"I'm ordering you out. I want you to pull back to base," the General commanded.

"Sir, you can't be serious," the leader of the troops at the bridge declared.

"Listen Ken, I know how you feel but I can't guarantee we'll be able to support you on the ground and with the shield moving we can't resupply you. So I want you to blow the bridges and pull back to the tertiary extraction point established. Do you understand me?"

"Retreat? Hell we just got here sir," Ritchie shot back.

"This is not the time for nostalgic heroics," Daily countered testily. "Your position is untenable. You need to get out while you still can."

"Sir, if we lose this position we'll never get it back. The squids are preparing for their reinforcements. We have to keep a wedge between here and their forward operations."

"I understand that Ken but its suicide to stay," Daily stated bluntly.

No sir, it's suicide to go," Ritchie countered, his voice suddenly dropping a bit. "We can't give up this opportunity. Plus, I have a team in there looking for the generator. I'm not going to abandon them."

Daily instinctively knew who was likely leading it but didn't ask.

"Plus I've gotten reports from my forward elements that they're also building some sort of docking facility it seems on the island," Ritchie continued. "We need to take it out. No sir, we have to stay."

The commanding officer paused, unsure what to do. He looked around at his staff knowing none of them could make the decision. It was his and his alone. Neither option worked but what choice did he have? The die had been cast. He'd risked it all on one hand. He needed to see how the cards came out but he also now knew he was sacrificing some good men at the bridge in the process.

"Your call Ken," Daily finally deferred, trusting his officer on the ground. "You know what you're up against and what the situation is."

"We're staying sir," Ritchie confirmed. "It's the only option. Retreat…."

"Hell," Daily whispered as he felt his heart rise up to his throat.


	47. Chapter 47 A ray of light

**Chapter 47 A ray of light in the gathering storm**

**Abandoned industrial complex, somewhere outside Military Command Los Angeles Protective Zone, LA**

A sound like distant thunder rolled through the abandoned factory. Hector looked out the dirty window above him and could see the sun shining in. This was a storm of a different type. Miles away a major battle was taking place, everyone in the complex could figure that out. The boy thought of Gunny Nantz and wondered if he were still alive. He'd become resigned to his position. He knew he couldn't escape and doubted anyone would find him even if they were looking. The boy felt insignificant, like no one cared about him. Then he remembered someone did care about him, just not in the way he wanted

Aunt Maria cared for the boy but not the way that showed any affection. Hector wondered if he were even his real aunt after overhearing parts of the conversation between the hard Mexican woman and the priest who had come to visit. Shortly after that he'd been taken away. Things seemed to be taken from him often: his father…his home…Mike…now the place he'd been living and making friends…everything.

Fatalistic foreboding filled the young boy's mind as he despaired for any future. Now the sound of distant battle drove him deeper into depression. Glancing over from the mattress he lay forlorn on he could see Maria Rincon and the man called Javier who'd helped take him in a heated discussion. They seemed no happier then him. Small consolation.

"How long are we going to stay in this place?" Javier demanded of Maria, out of earshot of Hector.

"As long as is necessary Mano," she shot back sharply.

"I agreed to help you take the boy away but this…this place was not part of the bargain," the muscular Mexican man whined.

"You will do what I tell you to do," the petite woman growled, unintimidated by the hulking figure. "I have paid you well for your services."

"Do you hear that?" the man responded. "That's the sound of battle. We are outside the protection zone here. I don't like it."

"You think you're safer there?" Maria snorted. "The Gringos will not be able to protect anyone here. The invaders will sweep that area up and everyone in it, you can bet on that. We are safer here, away from everyone else."

"Do you really think so?" Javier asked hopefully.

"Si. And in a few days I will have transportation arranged to take us far from here and away from all of this. Then you are free to go back or," she looked at him hungrily, "you can come along with me if you are of use."

For a moment the man had a sense of what Hector was feeling, like a mouse being toyed with by a vicious cat.

**Vincent Thomas Bridge, Terminal Island, LA**

"Prep the bridge for destruction," LCol Ritchie ordered the Captain commanding B Company at the Commodore Helm Bridge through the radio. "When we're set I'll give the signal and we'll blow them at the same time. Our new link up point will be along this side of the bridge."

The 2nd Battalion commander got off the radio wondering if they'd ever be able to link up. Despite his confidence with General Daily and aura with the men inside he had a growing sense of foreboding. He understood the necessity of destroying the structure but he also knew the Squids could swim so any impediment would be short-term at best. Plus, if the shield wasn't taken out the whole thing would be of little value.

The seasoned combat leader could see the Squids forming on the island and knew there were significant numbers on the land side of the bridge. He could only imagine what it was like for B Company. With no relief in sight and no air cover things were getting pretty tight. Still, it would be nice to not have to defend both ends of the bridge. With the casualties they'd already taken they were getting pretty thin.

Ritchie was confident he could easily defend the channel crossing allowing him to concentrate more troops on the landward side. That was one ray of sunshine in an otherwise increasingly bleak day. He wondered how Nantz and his team were faring. The decision to send them out had been perhaps a bit premature. He wondered if the team was too small and inexperienced for the job. Sure they'd taken the alien C-and-C centre out last year, the story was now the thing of legend, but how much of that had been dumb luck? Any smart enemy would learn from their mistake and be prepared and this enemy was certainly not stupid. "Damn," Ritchie said quietly to himself. He'd sent the men needlessly to their death. But what choice did he have?

"Orders sir?" an Engineer Sergeant attached to the force asked.

Captain Harvel had essentially turned command over to him so it was his call. "Rig the bridge for destruction. I want the whole thing dropped and dropped hard. Captain Harvel, get your men at the other end of the bridge ready to fall back fast when we're good to go. I don't think the Squids will be timid when they abandon their position. I want lots of cover fire as they come back. Maybe if we're lucky we'll take out a bunch of the suckers with the blast."

"What about Nantz and his team?" Harvel asked cautiously.

"They can get back the way they got in, by crossing the channel."

"It'll be hard to support them though," the company commander surmised.

"True but we don't have any real choice do we? We do the best we can, just like they do." The Lieutenant Colonel shot back a bit crossly, irritated by the situation more then the questions from the concerned Captain.

Ritchie could see the man didn't like the answer but neither did he. But what choice did he have? Their perfect plan was quickly unraveling and so they were now trying to fix it the best they could. He looked across the channel to Terminal Island and could see even more aliens moving about. There was at least a battalion's worth that he could see meaning the place was likely crawling with them and knew. He knew the importance of Nantz's task but still couldn't help but feel guilty. Yet without the shield down they were all finished. So if the small team could take it out he'd find a way to get them back even if he had to swim the channel himself.

**San Pedro neighborhood, near Terminal Island**

Doc Adukwu moved as inconspicuously as he could through the backyard of the abandoned home. He avoided toys and bikes scattered about the yard, not only making sure not to trip but also not to make any sound. The Corpsman could hear aliens in the distance and knew a number of them were between him and the bridge. He dared not use his radio to call for help so felt quite alone. Shoulders cramping from the weight of the RIO he carried and hands aching from gripping the M4 so tightly he needed to take a rest. Moving to the side of the next yard he found cover under a trio of orange blossom trees in the corner of the yard backing onto a wooden fence. Trying to set the injured airman down gently his gripped slipped and the Navy Ensign hit the ground with a thud groaning loudly in pain.

"Shh!" Doc tried to urgently quiet him.

"Sorry," Lewis responded through gritted teeth. "I didn't mean to do that."

"No, it is my bad," Doc consoled him in his thick African accent while checking the dressing on his wounds. Blood was seeping through the patch job he'd done meaning the bleeding hadn't stopped. It had been fortunate they'd stopped so he could try to stop the seepage. Much more and he would have perhaps died from the loss of blood.

"Thank you," Lewis said weakly.

Doc noticed the Ensign was paler then before and his breathing shallow. He needed to get the man to the Company Aid Station at the bridge quickly. "For what?" he asked in response, trying to take his mind off the ticking clock.

"For doing this. For putting your life at risk for mine," Lewis answered. "You can still leave me. I'd understand."

"No. I won't do that. You'll see your wife and child again," Doc declared, preparing to move again. Standing up he bent over to sling the Navy RIO back over his shoulder taking his eyes off the yard.

Too late Doc turned with the man to see a pair of infantry caste aliens had walked into the back yard. The lead one chirped in surprise as the other one seemed to warble in reply. Both seemed surprised but raised their weapons to fire on the Corpsman and wounded flier. Doc though reacted faster loosing a burst from his M4 that caught the alien just above the heart. It stumbled back and collided with the one behind it sending its burst of machine gun fire wide. Doc stepped to his right to get a better angle and drilled the second alien with three 5.56mm slugs. Before the pair of invaders hit the ground Doc was off and running.

Despite the sound of him running and the thunder of his heart beating in his ears Doc could hear movement all around him. Dodging and weaving as best he could the Corpsman pressed on to the bridge, praying he'd make it. A burst of machine gun fire tore up the ground behind him forcing him to duck into a back yard. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw an open gate at the end. Running towards it an alien stepped in the way but the muscular African fired his weapon on the run and barreled through the startled alien like a fullback running over a defensive back.

Steadily the Corpsman progressed, the Vincent Thomas Bridge becoming tantalizingly bigger. Two grenades landed on either side of him. For some reason he only heard the sound of his breathing and not the explosions going off. He didn't feel the shrapnel rip into his legs, only the burning lungs he pushed as he drove himself forward, totally focused on getting Ensign Michael Lewis reunited with his family.

Then suddenly he broke out of the residential area running madly through the approach to the bridge. He was close but he also had no cover. He prayed harder he would make it.

At the bridge the sound of approaching light arms fire had gotten the attention of the lead positions as well as the officers commanding the sector. The sight of the Corpsman running wildly towards the fortified position momentarily stunned everyone watching but then they sprang into action.

"Sir! " a Corporal called out. "Friendlies inbound!"

"What the Hell?" Captain Harvel said out loud. "What a second…that's Adukwu carrying that guy. Covering fire! Covering fire!" 1st Squad, move out and provide him support," he yelled, rallying his forces. "Let's bring them home!"

The Marine defensive position lit up like Christmas as every weapon engaged the aliens surging out of the residential area into the open chasing the lumbering Corpsman.

"Squids in the open!" Harvel called out. "Mow them down!"

Anger at the enemy who had been harassing them with hit-and-run fire spilled out into action as the Marines responded with a vengeance. Men on the line began to yell and cheer encouragement as they fired, willing the Corpsman on to safety, doing everything they could to get him there. The result was the first wave of pursuing aliens was cut down giving Adukwu a bit of a gap.

An audible groan could be heard along the line as Doc was hit in the leg with a machine gun round from the residential area and stumbled to one knee. The Marine relief squad was too far away and too engaged to help him. But with a Herculean effort Doc pushed himself up and keeping moving towards safety, turning to protect the injured RIO. Firing his weapon he walked backwards, again shielding the helpless Navy Ensign. Another round went clear through his shoulder causing him to drop his M4 but still he walked backwards, step by step, not allowing the other man to be exposed.

Marines screamed encouragement, firing their weapons. Several jumped out of their protected positions in an attempt to draw enemy fire, others wanting to run to him.

Though taking heavy casualties a fresh batch of aliens surged out and continued to press on in their pursuit, understanding the psychological importance of killing the pair. Yet despite their best efforts, Doc had only been hit twice and Lewis not at all. It was as if some shield was around the pair.

Yet the aliens continued to gain on the pair slowly walking backwards. Then several rocket rounds slammed into the lead aliens and the chatter of two GPMG's firing on full auto signaled support for the Marines had arrived. LCol Ritchie had moved up with the reserve force from the company adding their firepower to that which was already engaged.

Marines surged forward supporting the squad working their way to Doc and Lewis. Finally reaching them Ensign Lewis was gently lifted off Doc's shoulder and carried away protected by a trio of Marines firing and moving.

"No, I must take him," Doc groaned, fighting the attempt weakly. "I must not let him die."

"I'm not going to let you die either," the bass voice of Lt. Gordon declared. "You're getting out of here too."

After the news of the loss of the RIO and Corpsman the junior officer had been buoyed by the report of the pair returning to the bridge. Seeing the enemy advancing on them though he spontaneously jumped the barricade and using his sprinter's speed dodged and weaved his way over reaching the beleaguered pair at the same time as the squad making their way to them arrived.

With his burden taken, Doc's energy gave out and he collapsed onto the concrete ramp leading to the Marine's position. He never hit the ground. Two Marines held him up and a phalanx of others from the company most prominently Lt. Gordon surrounded him, not allowing anything to get near him.

With most of their force wiped out the aliens couldn't match the numbers or firepower of the angry Marines. While some stayed and died where they stood the remainder turned and fled leaving dozens dead or wounded on the approach to the bridge.

Ensign Lewis and Doc were hustled back to the Company Aid Station and miraculously the Navy RIO had no new wounds. Doc on the other hand had a number of shrapnel wounds and an additional machine gun wound to go with the other two he'd had.

Still, weak as he was, his concern was for Lewis. "Is he safe? Is Ensign Lewis okay?" Doc asked weakly.

"Yea, he's fine. He'll be okay," a Marine Doctor confirmed after stabilizing Lewis and working furiously on the now more seriously wounded Corpsman.

"Good…good," Doc said faintly, as Lewis reached over, eyes wet with tears, to grasp his hand. "Now you will see your family again," he gasped as he fell into unconsciousness.

**Abandoned industrial complex, somewhere outside Military Command Los Angeles Protective Zone, LA**

A green Military Police Ford Explorer pulled up about a half kilometer from the abandoned factories. Gwen Langois jumped out wearing a tan denim jacket and blue jeans. Taking a pair of binoculars off the dashboard she scanned the area around her that seemed abandoned.

"So you're sure dis is the 'Foundry'?" she asked Raul Santos in her thick Cajun accent. "It looks abandoned to me."

"Si. Yes. This is the place," he answered nervously. "Most stay in the inner buildings in the complex but trust me, people are here and they see us already."

"Well then isn't that good we have you along since dey will recognize you," Langois responded chipily.

Father Alexander began to wonder if this was a smart move as he watched the Latino man flinch at the comment. He wondered if this was smart, if this repentant man would turn on them but he also knew they had to get Hector back and this was the only way. He pulled the collar of his jacket up to cover the clerical collar he wore. The MP Lieutenant had suggested they dress down in order to not attract attention.

"You should have brought some backup. Soldiers or LAPD or something," Raul whined. "These people have guns and aren't afraid to use them."

"I guess we'll just have to ask politely," Langois retorted, pulling the slide on her M9 pistol and returning it to the shoulder holster under her jacket. "We can't spare anyone right now and dis could be a wild goose chase. Come on, let's get this done."

The casually dressed trio moved towards the Foundry unaware that they were being watched.

**Somewhere on Terminal Island, LA**

** "**Maybe we should wait until night to make the crossing," Lockett suggested as they watched the alien engineers busily working on the docking facility all along the causeway.

Mike looked at his watch and then up at the sun. "No, the relief column will be here in less then an hour. We don't have the time to wait," he declared not knowing the reality of the situation. "Plus, the longer we wait the more likely we get caught. The causeway won't work but we need to check out the south part of the island. So we'll need to cross from the west I figure," he stated pointing to the spot that made the most sense off of the satellite image and map he held out. "I'm just not sure how to do it. Any suggestions?" he asked his other NCO's showing the level of respect he had for them.

"We need a diversion," Harris stated, adjusting his thick horn-rimmed glasses.

"What do you mean?" Imlay asked.

"We need a diversion. Something to get the Squids looking the other way while we cross," Harris declared.

"What do you have in mind?" Mike asked, curious what was going through the man's mind.

Harris looked around for a moment then spotted what he wanted to the left of their position. "There. The APL Logistics building. We set a delayed charge that allows us time to move into position. It goes off and we book it across the harbor from the Coast Guard Station on Seaside Ave."

"It's risky. The Squids'll know someone's on the island," Lockett joined in.

"They might figure it out or maybe they'll think it's an indirect shot from the bridge," the bespectacled Corporal mused. "Even if they don't, they'll be looking in the wrong area."

Mike thought about it for a moment. "We don't have a lot of choices. That's the last main area we haven't searched and the clock's ticking. No, I think it's a solid plan, certainly the best we have. Okay, let's do it. Ortega, prepare the charge and set the timer."

In short order everyone was prepared and the small search-and-destroy team moved stealthily away right under the noses of the patrolling aliens. They traveled steadily West using Cannery Street as their axis of advance until they got to South Seaside away from the causeway and started moving down. Along the way alien traffic got thinner to the point where there was none.

Passing the Federal Corrections Institute facility on Reservation Point they were even able to walk in the open allowing surplus time at the Coast Guard station which was their destination.

"That's a long swim," Private Rapetti gulped, looking across the channel to their destination.

"What about our gear?" Harris asked.

"Let's look for something we can use to keep our stuff dry," Mike ordered.

A lifejacket locker was discovered and several dozen lashed together to make a raft to float their gear across. There was even one left over for Rapetti.

"Standby. The charge will be going off in less then a minute," Mike reminded the group.

The explosion could be heard over a kilometer away and an orange fireball rose up into the sky.

"I guess I used a bit too much C4," Ortega confessed somewhat sheepishly.

"No, good job. I'm sure that got their attention. Now let's move," Mike ordered urgently.

The team got into the water and swam as quickly as they could across the expanse, dragging the small raft with their kit behind them. Getting to the other side they were able to find a metal rung sea ladder going down into the water. Fortune seemed to be smiling on them.

Imlay went up first, surveying the area. Giving the all clear signal the others began to move up to the docking area under the shadow of a big blue loading crane. One after the other they made their way up. Mike was beginning to think of their next move.

They almost made it.

Rapetti was three-quarters of the way up the ladder still wearing his life jacket. The Private tried to adjust the bulky garment when his grip slipped on a slick rung and he lost his balance. Shouting in alarm the Marine tumbled headlong off the ladder landing with a loud _splash_ in the water. The noise attracted the attention of several infantry caste aliens across the canal to the north of their position. Though the Marines on top of the ladder couldn't hear it was obvious by their wild gesturing they were raising the alarm. Machine gun fire from the other side sprayed across the water seeking to destroy the team. As Rapetti climbed up the ladder again this time followed by Lockett who brought up the rear a rocket propelled grenade hit him square in the back. The Marine exploded with parts of him flying in all direction. His torso fell like a sack hitting Lockett square on the head causing the Corporal to lose his grip. He flailed around wildly trying to get his grip as the aliens on the other side sought to zero in on him with automatic weapon fire. Reacting at the initial fire, Harris got their GPMG down and embedded opening up. The M240B spit out fire and along with the rest of the team returning fire, they drove the small group of aliens back. Lockett regained his footing and scampered up the rest of the ladder, still shaken by what had happened.

For a moment the Marines could see no foes but could hear the excited chirping and warbling of aliens approaching.

"Anything?" Mike asked Santos.

The Air Force Tech Sergeant desperately worked her equipment but the frustrated look on her face gave the answer. "No. Still nothing."

Mike desperately looked for cover and a way to melt into the surroundings but the docking area was fairly open. They'd need to make a run for it and Mike feared this was going to become a running fight. They'd lost the element of surprise and now were about to become hunted on a shrinking part of the small island.

**Vincent Thomas Bridge, Terminal Island, LA**

"Charges are set sir, we're good to go," the Engineer Sergeant reported.

"Captain Harvel, pull your men back from the other side and then we'll blow it," LCol Ritchie ordered.

The company commander gave the order praying the aliens didn't surge forward when they saw the troops on the island side of the bridge abandon their position. His biggest fear was they'd be overrun and not able to get back.

The platoon rushed along the span but unexpectedly the aliens didn't pursue them as quickly as expected. In fact the Marines were nearly to the landward end before infantry caste aliens could be seen methodically moving up to the peak.

"Do we wait sir?" the Sergeant asked.

Ritchie had hoped to kill more then this in the blast but he didn't want to take any chances. "Too bad….no, do it."

"Fire in the hole!" the Engineer yelled as the Marines closest to the bridge covered their ears in anticipation of the blast while the Sergeant depressed the plunger on the detonator.

Nothing happened.

Desperately the combat engineer checked the connections and the RF switch for the remote detonators and hit the switch again.

Still nothing.

Aliens now began to surge over the crest of the bridge in mass, charging down on the surprised Marines seemingly with the intention of overrunning the defensive position with a quick assault.

"Prepare to repel!" Captain Harvel screamed.


	48. Chapter 48 Closing in

**Chapter 48 – Closing in**

Dozens of infantry caste aliens came charging down the bridge guns blazing, in addition two Wedge ships roared over the horizon to support the assault.

The platoon that had retreated across the bridge crossed over into the hastily set up defenses giving the troops in position a clear line of fire. The Marine line erupted in machine gun and small arm fire. Despite the ferocity the sheer number imbalance meant the aliens steadily pushed forward. One of the Wedge Ships engaged a GPMG position and with fire from its Direct Energy Weapon blew the position up. The loss of firepower encouraged the infantry caste aliens to press their advantage.

The Army engineer desperately tried everything he thought of to detonate the charges on the bridge but nothing happened. "Something's blocking the signal, sir!" he reported. "I can't blow it."

"What are we going to do?" Captain Harvel questioned with a growing note of desperation. "We're boxed in here. Maybe we should have taken the extraction."

"No way, we're going to hold the line," LCol. Ritchie growled. "Push two squads up each side of the bridge to provide flanking fire. We'll envelope them on the descent. Have the main positions support the squads and keep them free from attack. Break out the Stinger missiles we brought and drop those Wedge ships," he ordered. Then raising his voice so the others could here him he added, "Marines, we are going to hold this position and we're going to win."

A new voice joined the encouragement. "Come on guys, we can do this." Doc Adukwu declared in his thick African accent. The Corpsman limped awkwardly along the defensive position bringing extra ammo despite being in obvious pain. The doctor trailing behind him looked concerned but did nothing to stop the determined man.

The Colonel's confidence and Doc's example did the trick. The Marines snapped out of their funk, gritted their teeth and dug in.

Despite the numeric superiority of the attackers they were stacked up along the relatively narrow expanse of the bridge so could only bring minimum fire to bear. With the new platoon in position the Marines, on the other hand, were able to concentrate their considerable firepower into that area holding the attack at bay.

Several blasts from the Wedge ships DEW's caused gaps in the line but they were quickly filled by others though their position became more tenuous. But then one, then two plumes of smokes streaked up towards the hovering enemy ships from the Stinger anti-aircraft launchers. At point-blank rank they couldn't miss and each went down. One of the Wedge ships plowed into the bridge, taking out a score of aliens and the other crashed into the channel around the island.

Unrelenting fire from several M240B GPMGs and a salvo of grenades not only checked the attacker's momentum but actually began to push them back. Without support, progress checked and the Marines having every inch of the descent of the bridge to land zeroed the aliens began to get mowed down. En masse they broke and began to run back towards the other side while those who'd been attacking from landward melted back into the residential area. They'd held.

A cheer went up from the Marine position. Corpsmen went out to attend to the wounded and those still standing took advantage of the opportunity to reload and also slake their thirst from their canteens.

"That was close," Harvel commented, wiping sweat from his eyes.

"Naw," Ritchie countered, holding a handkerchief up to stop the blood from a slight shrapnel wound on his cheek. "We're in a good position and were never really challenged."

Looking out, the officers could see dozens of aliens lying dead on the bridge and dozens more wounded withdrawing back to the safety of Terminal Island.

"We're not going to be able to blow the bridge," Harvel declared, "and I doubt we can retake the other side. Looks like we're stuck in this position."

"Well, we'll just do the best we can," Ritchie answered, looking hard at the Captain.

Harvel could see the steely resolve in his commander's eyes so knew they were in for the long haul. _So be it_, he thought to himself. If it was going to be easy they wouldn't have called the Marines. "Food should be fine, everyone has rations but water could be a problem," the Captain declared.

Ritchie nodded his head, observing with satisfaction the new determination in the officer's voice. "We'll need to sort that out. Detail some men to search the buildings nearby to see if there's any running water. If not we'll have to get it from the channel and use the purifications tablets."

"Yes sir. I'll get it done," Harvel stated without any hesitation. The man was now in all the way.

"Reporting for duty sir." Doc Adukwu came over to the pair, standing with them a bit wobbly but with doggedness in his eyes.

"Adukwu, you're one crazy mother," LCol Ritchie snorted. "If we get out of this mess I'm putting you in for a Navy Cross." Then taking him by the elbow out of earshot of the others he added, "Thanks for that, by the way. The men needed a morale boost. You did a good thing."

"Thank you sir," Doc replied a bit embarrassed, "but I was only doing my duty."

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

Though still steady, the stream of casualties coming into the hospital had dropped off considerably. Michele hoped this meant things were going better at the front though the snatches of conversation she was able to pick up didn't give her cause for optimism. She looked down at the ring on her finger wondering anew if she'd made the right decision. Then the woman whose life had changed so dramatically the year before began to wonder if Mike was still alive. She might not need to worry about the future as a Marine's wife. She had made a hasty decision, in the passion of the moment. She'd not weighed the cost to her of a husband serving in the military. He was asking her to make a tremendous sacrifice for him. No one would begrudge her for being unable to fulfill that. No one would fault her for not wanting that kind of restriction on her life, the anxiety, worry, questions it would cause.

Then she saw two orderlies carrying out a body bag.

Did that one have a wife? A family? Michele's emotions swirled, unable to lock on a position. Perhaps it was the fatigue of the day or maybe just realization. She felt guilty for thinking such selfish thoughts. Hundreds of thousands of women had husbands serving in the military. Thousands had to face the agony of their death. What made her special?

"Please…please, you need to help me," a woman's frantic voice implored urgently. "He's very sick and if you don't do anything I'm afraid he'll die."

Michele heard the voice and there was something familiar about it but in her fatigued state she couldn't place it. The next voice, regrettably, she could.

"I'm sorry but there's nothing we can do to help you lady," Dr. Chevreau countered coldly. "We're beyond capacity and have no room for civilian sick at this point. Take your baby to a clinic."

"They aren't able to do anything for him and have no supplies," the woman pleaded. "They told me to come here. Please help he can barely breath!"

"We just don't have the time right now to look at non-priority patients. Come back in a couple of days and check to see if we can see you."

With that Dr. Chevreau turned and walked away. The woman tried to follow but an orderly blocked her path.

Michele saw the woman's shoulders slump then begin to contract as sobs wracked her body. The child she carried began to cry pitifully but everyone ignored her. The woman turned around, eyes desperate and wild and Michele recognized her.

It was Kathy Martinez, the widow of the Lieutenant who led the team that rescued her.

Michele was taken back to the previous year, after she'd come back from LA after being rescued. Not knowing whether Mike and the others were alive she'd met Kathy Martinez, the wife of 2Lt. William Martinez, and given her the letter Mike had given her to pass along. They'd talked briefly but Michele had been in such a state of shock from everything that had happened it had been short. She remembered the attractive woman had been pregnant at the time. This had to be the child, 2Lt. Martinez's child. She had to do something.

"Mrs. Martinez?" Michele went over and touched her arm gently.

"Please….please will you help me?" she sobbed, barely able to get the words out. "Please don't let my baby die. He's all I have left."

"I'll do the best I can to help."

"Thank you. Thank you. Wait…I recognize you. Have we met before?"

"Yes, my name is Michele Trantor. Your husband rescued me and my nieces last year."

"You're the one who gave me the letter," the distraught woman confirmed.

"Yes."

The baby cried but it was cut short and contracted as if it couldn't breathe.

"Can you do anything?" Kathy screamed in desperation. "He's going to suffocate."

"I can't but I know someone who can," Michele tried to reassure her.

Taking the woman by the arm Michele led her into the hospital. An orderly attempted to bar their progress but a glare from the determined woman caused him to step aside.

"Kelly! Kelly!" Michele called out to her friend. "You were a pediatrics nurse before all this right? This child is sick. Can you take a look at him, please?"

Kelly's expression hardened for a moment then softened at the sight. Despite the numbing fatigue from the day's relentless activity the compassionate nurse relented. "Sure. Let me see what I can do." The careful nurse took her stethoscope out and listened to the baby's heart then breathing. "What's his name?" she asked kindly continuing the examination.

"William," Kathy answered, "after his father."

Michele winced at the statement, remembering the handsome junior officer who had died so heroically yet tragically at the bridge.

Kelly caught the discomfort of her friend and connected the dots. "Well, he's a beautiful boy." Hanging on to him still she got a serious look on her face. "Your child has a pretty severe case of Bronchiolitis Mrs. Martinez."

Kathy's hand went up to her mouth as she gasped. "Will he be okay though?" she asked, barely able to keep her emotions in check.

"Sure, we can take care of it. We have what we need here to look after him. Don't worry."

The relief of Kathy's face lightened the mood of the group. "Thank you so much. I've been so worried."

Kelly left and returned with a series of medicines which she administered to William then gave instructions on further medication to his mother. "Sit here for a bit," Kelly ordered "to allow him to calm down and the medicine to take over. Then give him these based on these instructions."

"Thank you so much," Kathy gushed, hugging the nurse spontaneously.

"Happy I could help. I need to go," Kelly left.

"Please, can you sit with me for a bit?" Kathy asked Michele.

Michele hesitated knowing there was still much to do but seeing the look of desperation on the woman's face relented. "Sure. I've got some time."

"When I met you I hated you," Kathy declared quietly. "I knew before you gave me the letter and didn't want anything to do with you. I'm sorry…."

Michele took the upset woman's hand. "I understand. I wouldn't want to get that kind of news either. You have nothing to apologize for."

"Do you have anyone in your life?" Kathy asked.

Michele looked at her ring. "Yes, I'm engaged."

"Is he in the military?"

"Yes, he's fighting right now," Michele could barely whisper.

"Then you do know what I mean," Kathy stated with relief. "But I'm sorry also because I lost the opportunity to find out how William died….," her voice dropped off. "I wasn't ready then…maybe I'm still not….but I've heard bits and pieces since then but I'd like to know: how did he die?"

Michele took a deep breath. "He died so that others could live. We were in a desperate place and he gave his life so we could get out. He was a hero."

Kathy choked with emotion and squeezed Michele's hand tightly. "Tell me everything."

For the next half hour Michele went in detail everything that had happened from the time they'd met at the Police station to the time Kathy's husband had detonated the C4 on the bus stopping the alien advance. The woman listened with rapt attention, asking several time for more details. In the end, Kathy Martinez left with a recovering child and a greater sense of peace about what happened to her husband.

Michele watched the woman leave with a sense of peace of her own. In some ways she'd been given closure herself and looked afresh at her relatively new relationship. Sure there was risk, she reminded herself. Mike could be dead right now but she'd also forgotten the upside, the joy of the life she desired with the man she loved. He was a man who could only be the way he was, and therefore more desirable then any other, because he was a Marine. Eyes moist, she thanked God for the reminder of what she had to gain rather then wallowing in what she could lose.

**Abandoned industrial complex, somewhere outside Military Command Los Angeles Protective Zone, LA**

The trio walked as casually as they could towards the group of buildings known as the Foundry. As they got closer it was obvious people were watching them.

"Walk casually," Raul urged Lt. Langois. "You look like a cop."

The Cajun MP snorted but didn't comment though she loosened her stride up.

"Some of them have guns," Father Alexander suddenly observed. The priest became nervous, wondering if this had been a good idea.

"I told you this was a dangerous place to come," Raul responded. "I told you we need more backup."

"Well it is what it is," Langois commented but the usual confidence seemed to be escaping her. "Too late now, we're committed."

Suddenly things didn't seem so simple. The observation and declaration had a chilling effect on the group.

"So why the change of heart" Langois asked Raul, trying to ease the growing tension as they walked towards the first building.

"Why do you care?" he shot back with a forlorn expression. "You've already judged me and found me guilty."

"Well, are you?" she countered.

"Si, yes…I am guilty of many things," the Mexican replied quietly.

"Well den you condemn yourself. But I ask again, why are helping us here?" Langois pressed.

Raul shared his story as they walked closer. Father Alexander was impressed that the young man didn't embellish or try to make himself sound better. He stuck to what seemed to be the facts.

Lt. Langois listened quietly and while her tone seemed to soften she still held her ground. "Yet despite all dat you still turned to crime to support yourself."

"You don't know what I went through!" he raised his voice.  
>"I know you had a choice!" Langois shot back. "You think you da only one with a bad story? You chose that path."<p>

"You're right," Raul agreed quietly, hanging his head a bit. "I did. That's why I want to change. That's why I want to help."

The response disarmed the cynical MP. "Maybe there is hope for you. Maybe," she emphasized. "We'll see how this all goes and then talk again."

The conversation had taken them to the edge of the first building. The trio went in from the light of day to the shadows and darkness of the unlit factory office area. Shards of light filtered through dirty broken windows lighting up the dust that swirled around. Though quiet the three knew they weren't alone.

"Hey." A voice challenged them from the dark.

"Who is there?" Raul answered, signaling the others casually to stop.

"It is Viktor, Mr. Santos," a voice with a thick Eastern European accent answered.

"Viktor Krakov," Raul confirmed, trying to keep his voice calm. "What are you doing here?"

"Me? I am always here," the man answered coming out of the shadows with three other men flanking him. Then with a quizzical look on his face he asked, "What are you doing here? We never see you in this place."

"Business Mano."

"Yea, and who are these people?" Krakov asked pointedly, as the others brandished weapons. "They don't look like they belong here."

Si, you're right. They're military," Raul confirmed. Gwen Langois flinched and would have gone for her weapon if not for a look from Father Alexander.

"What?" Krakov raised his voice as one of his confederates raised the MAC-10 he carried. "You pick strange friends Raul," the Russian probed as the group spread out to encircle them.

Gwen Langois' heart beat wildly as she watched not only their avenue of escape eliminated but the gunmen move into solid covering positions. They were completely defenseless. She chided herself for trusting this grease ball. If she was going to go down, it wouldn't be without a fight. The feisty MP prepared to make her move.

"Friends, ha!" Raul chuckled, confidence in his voice. "You think I want to come to this place and leave the comfort of my hacienda? They are business associates. I am looking to make connections to move my product into the military base. These are my contacts. We are working on a deal that's why I needed to come. I don't trust the details of my business to anyone."

"Hmm," Krakov shrugged visibly relaxing causing his men to stand down. "Okay, makes sense. Next time you come back bring me some whisky. The nights are starting to get cold."

"No problem, Mano. I bring you Johnny Walker Blue," Raul chuckled. Then signaling to the others he said, "Come on, vamanos," and they walked past the impromptu checkpoint.

Out of ear shot Raul let out a deep breath. "That was close."

"Thank you Raul. You were brilliant," Father Alexander declared.

"Yes, dat was a good move back there," Langois stated, a bit confused. "You did well to get us past them."

"I told you I could be trusted," Raul shot back. "I can be trusted. I want a new life."

Langois nodded her head in agreement. "You're right. I was wrong about you and I hope you can forgive me. When you do what I do you get cynical...you lose your faith…."

"No problems," Raul cut her off so she didn't have to be more embarrassed then she already seemed. "I wouldn't have trusted me either." Seeing relief on the woman soldier's face made the man happy for some strange reason. "Come on, let's go find Hector now."

They moved deeper in the building coming into contact with a variety of people who seemed to be running from the world for their own reasons. Raul gained confidence with each step, taking charge of the search, asking everyone they met about Hector. Finally they seemed to find the information they sought and moved to another building deeper in the complex.

The trio entered into what had once been a smaller storage area compared to the main industrial room they'd exited. Lit by several candles and a number of flashlights, a generator hummed in another room providing light to several overhead lights. Though dim the group could see a boy lying on a mattress in a corner at the opposite end of the room.

As if sensing the arrival of people who cared Hector turned and saw three people on the opposite side of the room. Straining to see who'd arrived in the low light his heart skipped a beat as he recognized Father Alexander. A squeak of delight came out of the excited boy but he saw the priest raise a finger to his lips to quiet him.

"That's Hector!" Father Alexander said in a low voice. "Let's go get him," the priest added urgently.

"Wait!" Raul cautioned, putting his hand on the arm of the eager clergyman. "We must move cautiously. You two, stay in the shadows. Say nothing!" he urged. "This could get tricky so let me do the talking."

The Mexican man left the others and walked into the brightest light of the room. "Maria!" he called out. "Maria Rincon, where are you?"

"What are you doing here?" the petite woman hissed ominously, coming out of the shadows on the opposite side of the room. "And why have you been asking around here for Hector?"

If the declaration fazed the man he didn't show it. "I need to boy for an operation I have going on," Raul stated smoothly. "A simple job really. I need him only for a day or so. I'll pay well for him."

"What kind of operation?" Maria asked suspiciously.

"That is none of your business woman," Raul snapped. "Remember you work for me."

"Perhaps things have changed," the hard-faced woman responded menacingly. Javier and three other men came out of the shadows to cover the Latino man.

"What's this all about Maria? Are you crazy? Do you know who I am?" Raul tried to intimidate.

"Soon to be a dead man. You and your friends hiding over there in the shadows. I know who's with you. You've brought the priest so you've sold us out and now you're going to die."

Several other armed men came into the room from another door.

"Kill them all," Maria ordered.

**Somewhere on Terminal Island, LA**

"Keep moving!" Mike rasped out to the others as they bobbed and weaved through a forest of shipping containers. He fired a short burst from his M4A1 sending an alien spinning that had come charging around a corner. The beleaguered Gunnery Sergeant had passed up several good defensible positions to continue moving knowing that if they stopped the aliens trying to pen them in would swarm. Not only would they be unable to hold the position indefinitely but more importantly they wouldn't be able to accomplish their mission.

Despite everything going on he instinctively looked at his wrist watch and realized they were now many hours past the arrival time of the relief column yet there'd been no signs of any reinforcements. Showing the incredible capacity of the mind to multi-task not only did he continue to lead the squad but also processed the implications of what he'd just discovered. There were no signs of relief. Did that mean they were stuck on the other side of the bridge? Did the shield have anything to do with it? Had they even made it? He had neither the time nor the luxury of pondering such things. He needed to find the shield generator and take it out. But how could he do that when they were on the run. The aliens continued to pop in and out of cover taking pot shots but never able to mount a serious attack on the group due to the strength of the Marines concentrated fire. So this boxing match continued of two fighters seeking the advantage over the other.

"Uhnn…" Lockett cried out in pain, stumbling then falling onto the pavement. The African American grabbed his calf and tried to get back to his feet.

"Defensive formation!" Mike ordered urgently. "Harris, buy us some time with the 240!"

As the Marines spread out and increased their fire to keep the aliens hungry for victory at bay Mike went over to Lockett.

"Hit in the leg, Gunny," the Corporal reported through gritted teeth. "Sorry about that."

"Not your fault," Mike countered, ripping open the leg of the wounded man's combat pants. Examining the wound he reported, "Looks like the round went clean through." He then took a field dressing, ripped it in half to dress the wound then the other part he tied tight above the wound.

"I can still move," Lockett declared. "I can still fight. Help me up."

An alien round skipped off the pavement and clipped Mike on the cheek. His hand went up automatically and came back with blood on it. _Great_, he thought_, another scar. Michele's going to love that…oh Michele…_ he had to push the thought of the woman he may never see again out of his mind because the aliens were massing.

"Marines, we are leaving!" Mike shouted above the increasing fire. "Harris, cut us a path."

The bespectacled Marine and his partner concentrated their fire on an avenue of shipping containers and burned through a belt of ammunition risking overheating the barrel of the gun.

Seeing the impact Mike yelled, "Let's go," and led the way down the path stepping over the bodies of dead aliens. The others followed suit, firing in all directions as they went. Even Lockett kept pace through a combination of determination, fear and adrenaline.

The Marines were able to break out of the alien cordon around them which allowed for some maneuvering. Rather then go the direction they'd been on Mike made a series of right and left turns to try to throw off the pursuit. Though he'd studied the map and aerial photos of the island knowing it inside and out things had been so chaotic he'd lost sense of direction so just went where he felt. He could see an open area to their front and continued to push on. Coming into the open he thought he could see a shimmer of light emanating upwards from what looked like a shipping container but on closer examination was not but in fact some sort of machine.

"Gunny, it's the shield. Let's…" Private Jackson, the number 2 on the GPMG called out but his statement was cut short. Three rounds from an alien machine gun caught the Private in the chest ripping him apart.

They'd found the shield generator.

A platoon of aliens moved into position between the Marines and the objective opening fire and forcing the team back.

Helping Harris drag the dead body of Pte. Jackson, Mike wondered how they would ever be able to reach it.


	49. Chapter 49 Sacrifices

**Chapter 49 – Sacrifices**

**South LA Wetland Park, Florence, Los Angeles**

Major-General McConville entered the hastily set up forward headquarters of the 1st Armored Brigade Task Force. Wiping sweat from his brow he looked around the somber room noticing the lack of fire in the command area despite the sense of urgency with regards to their mission. "What's the news," he called out, getting people's attention.

Brigadier-General Pete Cooper greeted the paratrooper. "Nothing good. Still, glad you're here. What do you have with you?"

"I've got as much of the division up as I can but we're stacked up going back a few klicks. I peeled off a few units to protect the flanks and also give some air cover but we're good to go." Seeing a lack of enthusiasm he ventured to comment, "Seems like the Squids got you boys bottled up."

"Phew," Cooper snorted. "That's not the half of it. We're bottled up and stacked up. We walked into a prepared defensive position best I can assess and they're lodged in tight with good internal lines. We're way past our deadline and no closer to getting to those poor sods at the bridge."

"Not much we can do about that Pete," McConville commented. "We have a bigger danger of losing the whole damn war if we don't get unstuck. The Squids are massing on our front. If they punch through they can run all the way to our rear area. We need to turn the tables."

"Okay, so how do we do that?" Cooper said deferentially but with a note of challenge in voice.

The headquarters suddenly became still as those who'd been going through the motions of their jobs suddenly became interested in the conversation.

McConville caught this shift so decided to lay it all out. "We're corked up like a bottle here," the paratrooper observed as he looked at the tactical map with the current positions laid out. "We have this narrow front here and are all massed up behind. We can't bring any force to bear because the Squids have us hemmed in. They have enfilading fire and so we're screwed."

"So you're saying we need to break out?" Cooper asked cautiously.

"Exactly. We need to re-establish the initiative and bring more forward to bear."

"We've tried that," the armor officer countered. "We can't get close enough with enough force to break through. The front's just not big enough to establish critical mass."

"We need a spear thrust here not a broom," McConville declared, looking his counterpart in the eye. "We need a unit that'll unplug the cork. They push hard, break the line here," the paratrooper pointed to the spot which showed the centre of the line, "then that allows the rest to flow through and fan out. If we can achieve this breakout we can turn the tables. Our units can then hit them in their rear and flanks."

"One unit?" Cooper stated as a chill went over the gathered at the suggestion. "One unit when five at a time has failed? It can't work."

"But you weren't able to bring the full five to bear," McConville answered patiently. "The result was no one had maximum force or power. Everything was diluted and so failed. The Squids know that and that's why they pushed you into this box. But one unit, going full on and pedal to the metal could punch through. Once their line is broken it'll fall, I know it will."

Cooper opened his mouth to rebut but instead thought of what his aggressive counterpart had suggested. He went to the tactical map and looked at the dispositions himself then mulled it over in his mind as the others watched. "Okay, it sounds good and might even work, except..."

"Except what?" McConville asked, pleased the man had seen the benefit of his plan.

"Except the unit that leads this is going to face the full weight of alien fire. They'd be annihilated. I'm not even certain we can bring more then one unit to bear at a time so they'd have no support with no guarantee of success. The aliens have the whole area zeroed; they've set up a kill zone there. We could be wasting good troops needlessly," Cooper declared.

"We need to break out and we need to do it fast. We sit here much longer not only will they keep picking us off but they'll be able to close a vise on us. We'll be ground up, " McConville stated frankly.

"Awfully risky."

"For sure, but we don't have a lot of choice."

"So are you going to order one of your units to go on this suicide mission because I know I sure can't," Cooper declared.

"No, we can't do that," McConville agreed. "But we can ask for volunteers."

Cooper snorted but said nothing.

"All of you radio operators," General McConville called out to the headquarters staff. "I want an O Group with all available Brigade and Battalion commanders right now. No excuses. Call it in and get me General Daily at the Area HQ."

Surprisingly, the required officers assembled within the hour. Perhaps it was curiosity or a growing sense of urgency but they all came quickly. General McConville had a long conversation with General Daily who affirmed the plan.

"Listen up," the commander of the 101st yelled, getting the attention of the unit commanders assembled. "We have a situation here. We're jammed up and need to break out. The Marines holding the bridge need our help and we need to break out before the Squids get their reinforcements but we can't deploy the bulk of our troops. That makes us sitting ducks and they're picking us off one unit at a time." The paratrooper paused to take a breath. So far he'd stated the obvious but wanted to be sure everyone was on the same page. "So, we're planning a breakout. We will concentrate our forces at this point here," he pointed to a location on the tactical map he stood beside, "breaking their line and allowing the main body to bust out and re-establish momentum."

"That's an awfully narrow front, General," an armored Colonel commented. "Plus the run up to it will allow the enemy to enfilade fire. How many units are you planning to deploy on the lead assault?"

"Just one," McConville replied.

The room fell silent and the assembled officers began to avoid eye contact with the commander knowing what was coming.

The leader of the 101st looked around and felt the weight of what he was about to ask. "With that in mind, I'm asking for one battalion or regiment to lead the assault."

There was an awkward pause.

"75th Cavalry will do it General," a voice piped up from the middle of the assembled officers without hesitation.

"You sure about this Steve?" General McConville asked the officer from the 2nd Brigade Combat team of the 101st. "You guys are a reconnaissance unit."

"The Widow Makers can do the job sir," the officer responded confidently. "We move fast and can hit them hard. As long as we have armor support coming up behind us we'll get you your gap in the line."

"What do you think Pete?" McConville asked the leader of the 1st Armored group.

Before their commander could answer a new voice entered the conversation. "35th Armor will back them up Sir. We'll take that gap and blow the Squids to hell."

In an instant the air of defeat that had hung like a blanket in the building was lifted, replaced with a grim determination to get the job done. All there knew the stakes and didn't need a pep talk.

"Outstanding!" General McConville declared, happy for the volunteers. "We'll get the order of advance to you within the hour and we move in two. You two," he said to the volunteers, "wait for me and I'll brief you further. The rest of you, we need to get this done. There'll be no stopping this time. I believe not only the fate of LA is in our hands but that of America. Dismissed."

After the assembly had broken up and the officers began to return to their units the Major General spoke to the assembled leaders from the airborne and armored units.

"The Air Force should be able to keep the Squid Wedge Ships off of you but you'll need to push fast and hard," he confirmed. "Ignore fire and concentrate on the end of their line. When you punch through the rest will surge forward. We'll have armored dozers and recovery vehicles in with you and also after the lead echelon to ensure the way is clear. Questions?"

There were none other then if they could do it or not but that would be answered once the assault began.

People we need to do this or we're all going to die here and everyone else behind us," McConville finished. "Let's get it done. God speed."

Two hours later the Stryker combat vehicles and Humvees of the 75th Cavalry Squadron roared forward. At the moment the lead elements moved out of sight the alien line erupted in fire.

**Abandoned industrial complex, somewhere outside Military Command Los Angeles Protective Zone, LA**

At Maria Rincon's order Javier moved forward while two of the men with him pushed out to either side. The sneering Mexican woman sauntered over to where Hector sat wide-eyed, a wicked grin on her face.

Gwen Langois drew her pistol and barked out, "Police! Don't do this. Give it up!"

A shot rang out of the dark in response, then another from the same area. The Military Police officer rolled aside just in time as the bullets struck the post she'd been standing behind. Coming out of her roll she squeezed off two rounds in the direction of the first shot. There was a groan and thud as one of the attackers fell to the ground.

Father Alexander leapt out of the way as one of Javier's accomplices leveled a Glock 9mm pistol at him. The priest hid behind a stand-up metal tool chest and began to pray fervently.

Raul made a run for Maria, hoping to grab the woman and use her for leverage. He only made it half way before another one of the devious woman's accomplices came out of a corner and shot the man in the hip. As he fell to the ground a tattooed teenager with a 2x4 smashed him across the back. The Mexican went down in a heap.

Langois and two of the gunmen traded shots but neither could get the advantage. The two though kept her pinned down as others moved to cut her off.

Father Alexander saw this from his vantage point. "Lieutenant, look out!" he shouted. "They're trying to flank you!" Next he saw only stars as someone struck him hard on the back of the head. Regaining his senses he saw a bald-headed thug standing over him with the same teenager who had beaten down Raul.

"Sorry to have to do that Father," the grinning thug said, making the sign of the cross. "Now stand up and keep your hands on your head or I'll have more to share in confession."

Father Alexander stood up slowly to face the pair. The man with the gun slammed him face first down onto a work bench, keeping his gun at the priest's head. Father Alexander wondered if he was going to die. He thought it a bit ironic considering the times he should have serving in combat and now to die here and like this. He was prepared to meet God, in some ways looked forward to it and a life of peace in heaven. But not yet. There was still Hector. No, he wasn't ready to give up.

Gwen Langois knew she only had half a mag left. She also knew how long it would take her to reload. She'd dropped one gunman for sure and suspected she'd hit another which left Javier and one or two more. _Not good odds_, she thought. They were at a bit of a standoff with neither side wanting to show themselves.

"Come on girlie, let's party," one of the gunmen taunted her.

"You show me yours and I'll show you mine," she shot back, eyes racing to find where everyone was. She thought she saw a shadow move to her left but couldn't be sure. _Not enough cover and too much area to cover. Damn_…, she thought to herself. It'_s only a matter of time._

"Stop screwing around and finish them," Maria Rincon ordered from the other side of the room yet making no move to join the standoff.

The shadow Gwen Langois had feared turned into a real threat as Javier emerged carrying a pistol. He had her dead in his sights.

An explosion rocked the factory building blowing out dozens of windows including three in the large room the standoff was happening. A stray alien Wedge Ship flying over the area and seeing some movement on the ground had let loose a burst from its Direct Energy Weapon. Shouting could be heard outside as people panicked and tried to flee the unexpected attack.

In the confused moment Father Alexander took the opportunity. Spinning away from the gun pointed at his head he rotated right throwing a solid punch that connected with the jaw of the man holding the gun. A crack could be heard as bone broke. The man yelped then dropped his gun to cover his face. The tattooed teen tried to bash the priest in the head with his 2x4 but Father Alexander nimbly ducked below the whistling club, sidestepped and hit the skinny youth first in the stomach then in the face. Nose bleeding the teen went down.

"Father forgive me," he prayed quietly as he kicked the gun away and went for Hector.

Two of the gunmen fled at the sight of the alien ship, leaving only Javier. The Latino ducked low and came charging up behind the spot Gwen Langois had been hiding behind. He fired two rounds into an empty space.

"You looking for something, cher," the Cajun drawled, coming out from the opposite side.

"What? How?" Javier blustered.

"I moved you idiot. Never stay in one spot too long," she declared, pistol at her side. "Your move."

Javier thought he had a shot. Dropping to one knee and bringing his gun up with snake-like reflexes he squeezed but Gwen Langois' military issue pistol spoke first drilling him in the forehead. His gun went off into the ceiling as the man fell to the factory floor dead.

Father Alexander was eight feet away from Hector when Maria Rincon raised a hidden pistol causing him to stop dead in his tracks.

"Don't do this Maria, it's not worth it," the priest pleaded.

"Oh but it is. Soon we will leave this place and no one will see Hector again," she cackled. Then with a crazed look in her eyes she squeezed the trigger.

"No!" Father Alexander screamed, spasiming backwards in anticipation.

Instead of being hit a figure leapt across the ray of light from the broken window getting struck by the bullet with the priest's name on it. Another shot rang out from the side and Maria Rincon slumped to the ground with a stunned look on her face.

Gwen Langois kept her gun pointed at Maria's still figure until she could collect the woman's gun then went to the crumpled person who had taken the bullet meant for Father Alexander.

It was Raul.

"What? Why? Why would you do that?" the Military Police officer asked the dying man.

Father Alexander was at his side instantly, cradling Raul's head.

"Couldn't let the priest take the bullet….wasn't right…needed to make up for so many sins….for letting down my grandmother…my friend," Raul's voice started to fade as he went pale. "Will you pray for me Father?"

Gwen began to cry as she dropped to her knee and took the man's hand in hers. "Your friend and your grandmother would be proud of you," the tough Police officer declared softly.

Raul Santos smiled and closed his eyes. The strained look on his face relaxed and he seemed finally to be at peace. The demons that'd been dogging him for so long had been chased away by the truth of what lay deep within the man: character.

Father Alexander, face stained with tears himself, took a small bottle of Holy Water out of his pocket and said, "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, I ask that you receive this child into your arms…."

**Somewhere on Terminal Island**

Ducking alien fire the remaining members of the team hunkered down a distance away to assess the situation.

"We need to bug out then find another way," Imlay declared urgently. The usually unflappable Corporal squeezed off a burst at an infantry caste alien who tried to break their defensive position. "Those Squids at the generator will run us over."

"They seem to be content to hold their position and block us in," Mike commented after a quick assessment of their situation. "We've given the others in this sector a good run so they seem pretty spread out. If we pull back that'll give them a chance to consolidate and then we'll have no chance."

"So what do we do Gunny?" Lockett asked through gritted teeth. "We're with you whatever you decide."

"We need a distraction," Mike yelled above the cacophony of fire, "to draw them away so we can get a shot. Harris, base of fire here. Lockett, Imlay, we'll cover you as you move then you open up and pull the Squids left. Santos, you go with them too but have that code book ready to get us some air support once we blow this sucker."

"You got it Gunny," she replied grimly, tapping the bulge in her breast pocket.

"Good. That should do the trick," Mike confirmed. "I'll cover Ortega and we'll go right with the SRAW. We'll only get one shot so we need to stay focused. Rally point is here. Go."

Harris opened fire with the M240B, pushing back the infantry caste aliens who'd been creeping forward with a wall of lead while the others began to move into position. He was the pivot, allowing the others the chance to slide left and right. With Anderson dead the bespectacled Corporal was alone so suddenly felt vulnerable. Coolly firing in short burst he traversed back and forth to keep the attackers at bay. He thought of Cherise and wondered if he'd ever see her again. _Not likely_, he conceded. He thought back to the previous year when they'd been weeks away from getting married and then all this. Stavros's face came to mind. His best man and best friend, killed on the bridge helping to protect the others. Would he be remembered or fade away? Cherise would remember. He thought about their time together when he recovered from his wounds, thankful for the extra time they'd had together. He'd dodged death once so didn't like his odds. He hoped Cherise would mourn him for a while but then find someone else. She deserved that after everything he'd put her through. No, he was prepared to make the sacrifice for his teammates but he wasn't going to go down easily. Yelling at the aliens he continued to hold the line.

Mike and Ortega dodged fire and skipped to their right. Mike fired as he went, moving to the spot he prayed would give them a clear shot. Ortega followed behind covering the flanks with the Predator SRAW bouncing up and down on his back as he ran. The pair rounded the corner of a rust red shipping container which blocked them momentarily from the aliens who'd been trying to pick them off. Mike slide into position peering around the corner. While a few aliens trailed after them the bulk of those guarding the shield generator seemed to be occupied with the fire of the three that had gone left. Imlay and Lockett lobbed grenades causing the aliens to duck giving them a window of opportunity.

"Here's our chance Ortega," Mike rasped. "Make it count."

In one smooth motion the Latino Private knelt down and brought the fire-and-forget missile launcher up to his shoulder. At this range he didn't wait for the required three seconds to ensure a lock on the target. As soon as he had the generator in his reticule he pulled the trigger.

With a _whoosh_ the rocket exploded out of the launcher and blazed to the target. It was right on the money.

Mike couldn't believe their luck. They'd actually done it. Not only had they found the thing but they were going to destroy it. He almost smiled.

Then he watched the rocket bounce off the structure as if it had some shield of its own around it.

The Predator hit the ground and exploded, shredding a half dozen aliens who'd been covering it and wounding a dozen more but the structure itself was intact.

Mike couldn't believe what he'd just witnessed. He could feel his heart beating faster with the realization of what had just happened. They'd found it despite the odds, he'd lost two men in the process and still it stood. "Fall back to the rally point!" he screamed.

The trio on the left had been engaged in a severe firefight with the bulk of the force guarding the shield generator but had held their own. Hearing the call to rally Imlay let loose a grenade from his M203 which bought them the opportunity to disengage. "Come on guys, let's fall back," he called out.

Lockett began to move but Santos didn't. She continued to kneel at the side of a shipping container. Thinking she hadn't heard Imlay moved over and patted her on the shoulder. The Air Force Tech Sergeant fell forward and rolled onto her back. An ugly wound bled dark red down at her waist. The woman's eyes fluttered open and she moaned.

"Santos!" Imlay cried in shock. "Lockett, cover us. Santos is hit!"

With the African American Marine covering them Imlay grabbed the wounded woman and hauled her back to the rally point. Ortega and Harris covered them while Lockett, Imlay and Mike worked on Santos.

"Ai," she grunted. "Damn that stings."

The wound was stopped and bound with field dressings but it was obvious the woman was in bad shape.

Mike looked around to see what was happening. The aliens at the generator were down to less then one-third strength but a larger force was gathering just outside their range and preparing to move in. Once that happened they wouldn't be able to hold their position. They'd be forced to pull out or be annihilated. But what to do? The rocket had not done any damage so they needed a bigger explosion.

"Ortega, how much C4 you got left?" Mike asked the kneeling Marine.

"Enough to make a half block crater, Gunny," the man replied, dropping a probing alien with a precise shot. "'cept we got no detonators. Rapetti had them and they went down with him."

Mike swore. They had the TNT but no way to set it off. No way except…. The thought chilled him. Someone would have to do it. Someone would have to set off the charge right beside it. He left the others to assess the lay of the land around the generator and found the shortest point. If done right away, before the Squids could counterattack, it could be done. But who would set off the charge?

"Tighten up people," Mike ordered. The group shifted in so they could hear but continue to engage the enemy as needed. "We have one last shot at this. We're going to push over to that group of containers there," he pointed, "rush the position with a quick assault, set a C4 charge and blow the generator."

"But Gunny, we got no detonators," Ortega pointed out. "Who's going to set off the charge?" he asked, causing the others to start at the realization of what needed to be done.

"I'll be doing it," Mike answered quietly, thinking of the picture of Michele and him in his helmet. You'll cover me then fall back. Once you're clear of the blast zone I'll set it off with a grenade."

"No, I'll be the one to do it," a soft Latino voice countered.

"Santos, you can't," Mike implored the woman who had just volunteered to take his place. "I can't let you do that."

"I'm done anyway Gunny," she said matter of factly. "I'm not getting off this island and would only slow the rest of you down. You go and marry that pretty woman from the helicopter."

"What?" Mike said, stunned at the comment.

"Come on, it's obvious the two of you got something going. Go and live a bit," she smiled faintly. "Here, take the code book. Call it in when I do it."

Mike looked at her for a moment, saw the determination in her eyes and knew it was pointless to argue. She had given him a gift and he wouldn't ruin it by arguing the point. "Okay, everyone reload," he ordered, eyes fixed on the petite woman, trying to keep his voice even. "Fresh mags, grenades at the ready." He helped Santos to her feet. "All right…GO!"

The group stayed tight and sprinted to the location that would be the jump off point for the final assault a wall of lead flying out 180 degrees. The ferocity of the fire set the remaining aliens on their heels giving them the moment they needed. Harris, Imlay, Lockett and Ortega stopped at the designated point and poured on the fire while Mike helped Santos, now carrying the satchel of C4 explosives towards the shield generator. A few aliens tried to stop them but the precision fire from the other Marines kept them at bay. In a matter of seconds that seemed like hours the pair made it to the base of the shield generator.

Santos slumped down, exhausted from the exertion. Mike knelt down and engaged a couple of pressing infantry caste aliens to give her the time she needed to set up.

The Air Force Tech Sergeant pulled the satchel over to her front and then fished a grenade out of her pocket. "Ready Gunny. Get out of here."

"Santos, I….," Mike stammered, not willing to leave the woman.

Go Mike, go!" Santos screamed as aliens began to surge around the generator perhaps figuring out what the human's plan was.

Mike let loose a burst from his M4A1 and ran back to the others who were desperately trying to hold the surging aliens at bay. A machine gun round hit him in the shoulder causing him to stumble but he continued to run back towards the others. Reaching them the foursome did a fighting withdrawal, trying to support Santos while also moving out of the blast zone.

Santos saw them leave and the aliens massing. She emptied the clip of her M16 then pulled the pin of the grenade. Dropping her rifle she crossed herself and said quietly, "Father into your hands I commit my spirit…"

The grenade erupted igniting the satchel of C4 explosives. With a roar a fireball erupted that could be seen all the way to the Vincent Thomas Bridge and beyond.

Sacrifices, some that would become famous in the days ahead, another that wouldn't, but all worthy of remembering. All were based on love, love for the cause and for their fellow man. In a world where the title 'hero' is thrown around loosely, a military unit, and two members of the Santos family, one a criminal wanting to change his legacy and another a Sergeant showed the world what heroism truly is. One would be remembered only by a few, the other by millions but both sacrifices were worthy of renown. In a wise and ancient book are found these words: Greater love has no one then this-that he would lay down his life for a friend.


	50. Chapter 50 Fresh wind, fresh fire

**Chapter 50 - Fresh wind, fresh fire**

**Somewhere on Terminal Island**

The terrific explosion knocked the remaining members of the team to the ground despite their distance. Intense heat from a shock wave pinned them down for a moment as debris rained down.

"Come on Gunny, we got to get out of here," Imlay urged, pulling him to his feet.

"No, we need to be sure," Mike countered, throwing off the Corporal's arm despite the intense ringing in his eyes. "Come on," he croaked to the others, throat parched, "we need eyes on to see if the generators have been destroyed."

The remaining team members moved cautiously back to where the shield generator had been but for the moment there seemed to be no aliens around. Small fires burned around the dock area and as they moved into view of the where the distinctive machine had been a large black crater was dug out of the concrete. Shredded bodies of aliens littered the ground and none seemed to be standing.

Mike looked for the generator but it was nowhere to be found. He looked up and for the first time noticed the shimmer that had masked the sky was gone. Instead glorious sunshine bathed the area. Santos had done it!

Their respite was short lived.

Alien machine gun and grenade fire erupted all around them as infantry caste squads angrily moved in to destroy those who had eliminated their shield.

Mike desperately looked around for a place to hold us in the face of the onslaught. "Fall back over there!" he pointed to a defensible spot. "Diamond formation. We need to move or we won't make it."

Firing and moving the five remaining Marines sprinted to the refuge and took up a defensive posture. Everywhere they looked aliens were aggressively trying to push into their position.

"We're cut off Gunny!" Imlay shouted, firing his M4A1 in all directions. "What are we going to do?"

"Hold on until help arrives!" Mike ordered. Retrieving Santos' code book he turned his radio on. There was no need for stealth anymore, every alien on the island knew where they were and seemed to be bearing down on them. Flipping through the book he switched to a direct link to the Air Force tactical network directed on the page, bypassing the area headquarters. "Raven Main this is Joker Three. Requesting Ground Support Mission Hotel-Three-Three authorization Delta Sierra-One-One-Niner at these grid co-ordinates…."

**Vincent Thomas Bridge, Terminal Island, LA**

The aliens had been pressing both sides of the bridge hard again, trying to squeeze the Marines in a vice-like attack. The 2-5 had been holding thus far but could feel the line buckling under the pressure. Captain Harvel had been moving his troops around expertly but his options were becoming more limited.

LCol Ritchie had been in contact with the forces at the other bridge and theirs was the same story. Casualties were mounting and ammo was getting low. He was proud of his Marines. They'd taken the bridges and held them longer then they were supposed to. Though his optimism had faded he was at peace knowing they'd done everything they could.

A group of aliens surged though a hole in the defenses along the landward side of the bridge following upon on a grenade salvo. "Plug the gap!" Ritchie ordered. Grabbing two Marines he ran over to the spot and tried to stem the tide.

Then an explosion on the island lit up the dusk sky.

Everyone paused for a moment, alien and man alike, at the unexpected event. Then someone looked up and yelled, "The shield's gone!"

Ritchie could see the aliens hesitate at this apparent development. He fired a burst from his service rifle dropping an alien who'd paused then looked up to see the shimmer that had been above them gone. The generator had to be down.

Reacting swiftly Ritchie encouraged the beleaguered company to push back. Then he grabbed his radio operator and ordered, "Call this in and get us some air support!" The aliens started to pull back in disarray at the new development and renewed aggressiveness of the Marines so he took a moment to take a long look at the glorious clear sky, allowing the sun to warm his face. _Thank you Nantz_ he thought to himself.

**Area Headquarters, LA Theatre of Operations**

"The shields down!" an operator shouted jubilantly.

General Daily called out hopefully despite his surprise, "Confirm. Have Air Force standing by."

The junior officer checked her computer then spoke to a colleague flying high above in an AWAC. "Yes sir. The shield is down."

A cheer went up in the operations center while General Daily pumped his fist in the air.

"Yes!" the commanding officer celebrated. All right. I want all available air assets in to support the push on the line. Have two squadrons converge from the rear and another to provide cover from any Squid Wedge Ships."

The place came alive with renewed vigor.

"Are you sure that's wise sir?" Colonel Weeks asked openly.

Daily was shaken from his elation. "What do you mean by that?" he asked a bit confused at the somber tone of his S3.

"I think we should be careful sir," the operations officer cautioned. "This could be a trap by the aliens to get us to commit our reserves. If that thing comes back up we're cooked."

You could feel the air starting to leak out of the balloon of optimism in the headquarters.

"I agree with Colonel Weeks, sir," added General Grayback. "This could be a trick. I would advise we hold off until a more thorough investigation can be initiated. We need to be sure."

"Wait while our guys on the line get chewed up?" Daily countered in frustration. "What do you think Captain Blatchford?"

The reporter turned officer snorted. "I think we've been too cautious all along. We don't have the time nor can we afford to hesitate. But if some have a concern why not just contact the Marines holding the bridge, they can confirm."

Grayback glared at the upstart Reservist but couldn't argue with the logic of the suggestion.

General Daily scanned his assembled leadership team and sighed. "Do it. Contact Lieutenant Colonel Ritchie at Terminal Island."

It only took a moment for the call to be made. With the sound of small arms fire in the background the commander of the LA theatre sought the information he needed.

"Ken it seems the shield is down. Can you confirm this?" General Daily asked LCol Ritchie.

"Yes sir, it's down here too," he confirmed as a nearby explosion cut him off. "We're hard pressed and low on ammo. We've been trying to get air support but none is being released. What's the hold up?"

Daily looked angrily at his Operations Group. "We need to be sure it's down and not a trap. Can you confirm for certain it's down?"

"Well, it's not up now. There was an explosion on the island and the thing dropped. It's gone. I can assure you of that." Ritchie answered a bit testily.

"But have you been able to get confirmation from the team on the ground that they took it out?" General Grayback cut in.

"No sir, we haven't. With the size of the blast I don't think the team made it," Ritchie retorted, a hint of emotion in his voice. "Trust me, its down. Send us help. We can't hold much longer."

"Wait one," Daily ordered the Marine officer. He looked at his staff.

"Too risky sir. I smell a trap," Col. Weeks declared.

"I agree with him. The risk is too great," General Grayback confirmed.

"Clock's ticking sir. We need to move. Now," Captain Blatchford stated.

General Daily felt the weight of the decision. Things seemed good but if it was a trap they'd be left with nothing. Still, he felt he needed to trust those who were on the line. And what choice did they really have? It was time for bold decisions not just on the front but in the relative safety of the rear also. He got back on the radio. "Hang tight Ken. Help is on the way." He then turned to his Air Force Liaison Officer. "Release all reserves. I want maximum support and resupply at Terminal Island and a full attack at the front."

If that didn't shock his more timid officers the next one did. "And get the command helicopter prepped for take off. I'm going mobile and the ops group is coming with me. Care to join us Captain Blatchford?"

"I thought you'd never ask," the diminutive woman responded happily.

**Abandoned industrial complex, somewhere outside Military Command Los Angeles Protective Zone, LA**

The alien Wedge Ship was chased off by a pair of Air Force F16's so the inhabitants of The Foundry began to come out of hiding and assess what had happened. A number had heard the gun battle in the storage area Maria Rincon had controlled so came to investigate.

Gwen Langois, still smarting from the sacrificial death of Raul saw several men come into the room to find out what was going on. The Military Police officer sprang to her feet, service pistol leveled. "Come on, make a move," she yelled.

"Hey lady," not our problem," one responded, raising his hands to show he wasn't a threat. "You do what you got to do."

The curious left the room rather then face the wrath of the Cajun woman.

Hector, wide-eyed and shocked at what he'd witnessed, finally was able to unglue himself from the mattress he'd been sitting on during the engagement. The boy sprang to his feet and ran towards Father Alexander who had just finished performing the Last Rites on Raul.

"I'll be back to make sure you have a proper burial," the priest promised. He turned just in time to keep from being bowled over by the boy.

"Father Alexander! Father Alexander!" Hector cried. "You came to rescue me."

"Yes we did. You're safe now," the priest confirmed.

"How did you find me?"

"Raul brought us to you," Father Alexander answered quietly.

"But…but he was a bad man. My Aunt Maria had me do things for him," Hector declared. "Why would he help you to rescue me? Why did he throw himself in front of my Aunt?"

"He wanted to change," the priest stated. "No, he had changed. His act was very brave, an example of sacrificial love."

The answer seemed to satisfy the boy. Shifting thoughts Hector's face lift up, "Is Gunny Nantz with you?"

"No," Father Alexander frowned at the thought of where he was, "he's fighting the aliens right now but I'm sure he's okay."

"Then what will happen with me?" Hector asked, starting to put some pieces together.

"You'll stay with me until your friend returns," Gwen declared joining the conversation.

"Who's this?" Hector asked, a bit overwhelmed by everything that had gone on.

"This is Lt. Gwen Langois. She's with the Military Police," Father Alexander introduced, pleased by the offer.

"Thank you," the boy said quietly. "Thank you all for rescuing me. I'll never forget what all of you did for me." He went over and gave the tough police officer a hug.

The praise from the boy warmed Gwen Langois' helping with the pain and guilt she felt at Raul's death. She returned the hug, soaking in the warm feeling but then reality came back in. "Come on, we need to get out of here," she declared, knowing there was still risk in the lawless place. "But I'll be back to get Raul's body and clean this place up."

**Terminal Island, LA**

At the Vincent Thomas Bridge the aliens vigorously resumed their attack at both ends, trying to crush the Marine defenses but their thrusts were sporadic and uncoordinated. The dropping of the overhead shield seemed to throw the alien command into a bit of disarray.

Lt. Gordon was with his platoon holding the flank closest to the canal on the landward side. They'd taken casualties but were able to hold their position. He heard the sky rip and several miles out saw the growing dots of streaking jets heading towards the island.

"Look!" Gordon called out, "air support inbound." The Marines cheered but the volume died down as the jets headed past them towards the southern part of the island. _What the h_eck, he thought but then it occurred to him, _someone from Nantz's team must still be alive and called in air support._

The opportunity to ponder was short lived.

"Squid Wedges!" a Marine warned as four alien hovercrafts flew in to attack from the city. The Marines in the defensive position braced for the onslaught but before the alien ships could open fire with their Direct Energy Weapons the lead craft then the others in quick succession exploded. Coming from high and out of the sun Air Force F16 Fighting Falcons streaked in wiggling their wings in salute to the now cheering defenders of the bridge.

At the company headquarters, LCol Ritchie and Captain Harvel joined in the celebration until their radio operator called the pair over.

"Sir, we got an inbound transmission for you," the Corporal reported.

"This is Viper Lead," a southern voice drawled over the radio from the overflying F16's. "We'll be on station to watch you boys until your reinforcements arrive. Hang tough, it should only be another couple of hours. In the meantime, we've got something that should help tide you over."

The distinctive drone of turboprop engines grew in intensity until flying low and towards the bridge a flight of four-engine C-130 Hercules cargo planes came into view. The rear ramped lowered as they flew over the 2-5's position and the loadmasters on the ramp pushed bundles of supplies out the back. Their placement was perfect and as the parachute attached skids fell they landed in the center of the Marine position.

"Snug as bugs in a rug," Ritchie commented to Captain Harvel and the Marines eagerly unpacked crates of ammo and other supplies. "Now if only Nantz and his team can make it out."

At that moment Mike and the remnant of his team were fighting for their lives. Ammunition was low and the aliens had aggressively pushed them into a tight defensive circle. Ortega had been hit in the hip but still held his position. Lockett was weakened from a loss of blood and Mike felt the shoulder wound he'd taken earlier. But none relented, picking their shots wisely and keeping the alien attackers at bay.

Then everything changed.

The radio Mike now carried came to life with a message of hope.

"Joker Three this is Raven Two-Seven, we are inbound and ready to engage."

Mike started to laugh, he couldn't help himself. The pressure of the past day overwhelmed him. "Good to hear you Two-Seven. We'd appreciate the support. Bring the heat, danger close."

"Our pleasure. Thanks for dropping the shield. We have your position locked. Pop red smoke on your location and keep your heads down in about one Mike. We're coming in hot, danger close."

"Imlay, pop smoke, we got friendlies coming in. One minute. The cavalry's here!"

F15E Strike Eagles came screaming in, their Vulcan Gatling Cannons blazing. The 6-barrelled guns spit death to the surging aliens caught in the open. The invaders broke and ran as another flight swooped in nailing their fall back positions with AGM-65 Maverick missiles. The combination of cannon and rocket fire broke the back of the alien desire to punish the remaining Marines who'd destroyed their shield generator. Instead, they turned and ran.

Just over an hour later Lt. Gordon saw a sight that caused him to turn away from his other men so they didn't see the emotion on his face. Gunnery Sergeant Nantz and the remainder of their team appeared out of a forest of shipping containers heading for their launch to cross the channel.

**Florence, Los Angeles**

The 75th Cavalry had made excellent progress, even more then Major-General McConville had expected but the cost had been high. Better then half of the unit was down but the Widow Makers had been relentless in their efforts to unstick the offensive. With the punch of 35th Armor's M1A1 tanks they'd engaged the alien line and broken through. Unfortunately, the aliens counterattacked, fighting viciously for every foot. Their casualties had been huge but still the invaders threw more to keep the line blocked. The human forces were tantalizingly close to the breakout they desperately needed. Units were in position ready to surge forward. But hope and good intention don't win battles. The aliens had better position and more resources which meant they could steadily grind the reconnaissance battalion to dust and begin to chip away at their armored support. It was a matter of simple math.

Then the Air Force arrived and changed the equation.

First F22 Raptors swooped in from the rear driving off the alien Wedge Ship cover. With the air clear it was time for the US Air Force to own the skies. Flights of F15E Strike Eagles screamed over the alien position dropping 500lb laser-guided bombs from their inventory then as they banked away slower moving A-10 Thunderbolts popped out of nowhere to pound the alien line with salvos of Hydra rockets then peppering the position with their 30mm Avenger Gatling Cannons.

The alien line collapsed under the vicious assault.

75th Cavalry surged through, followed by 35th Armored and suddenly the road was clear for the rest of the two divisions to break out. Armored bulldozers and recovery vehicles moved in to clear the roads on the axis of advance as engines roared to life and crews loaded weapons.

As this was going on a Blackhawk helicopter landed at the command area flanked by a pair of Apache Gunships. To the surprise of the paratroopers protecting the headquarters General Daily hopped out followed by his hesitant senior staff. Explosions could be heard a short distance away mixed with the staccato sound of small arm fire causing several to duck involuntarily.

Word was relay to Major-General McConville who came outside to see what he couldn't believe. "Ron, what the hell are you doing here?" the commander of the 101st Airborne asked incredulously.

"I wanted to see what was going on Jim," Daily replied a bit sheepishly. "I don't want to get in the way but I needed to see what was happening."

"Oaky," the paratrooper responded, impressed anew by the area commander. "Your timing is perfect. The Air Force support you sent us did the job. We just popped the squid line and in about five minutes the wrath of God is going to descend on those bastards."

"What do you have going on to support the 2-5 at the bridges?"

"I got a Stryker Battalion from the 35th ready to go balls to the wall and get there. If you can rustle up some air support to pave the way they can likely be there in maybe two hours."

That was the best news the commanding officer had heard since hearing the shield was down. "Major Temperman," he yelled to the Air Force liaison officer with them, "give them whatever they need. This is a priority mission."

"How is 75th Cavalry holding out?" Daily asked, afraid of what he'd hear.

"They got the crap knocked out of them but they gave more then they got back and are still standing. I'm about to pull them back," McConville answered. "We owe those boys a lot."

Daily breathed a sigh of relief. "You're right. Whatever they need, they get."

General McConville's operations officer interrupted the conversation. "Sir, we're good to go."

"All right then, release the dogs," the paratrooper answered enthusiastically. Then looking from the General to his helicopters he got a grin on his face. "Hey Ron, want to watch the battle?'

Daily laughed like he hadn't in weeks. "You're crazy Jim." Then pounding his friend on the shoulder replied, "Let's do it."

The view from the sky was impressive. With the alien line breached armored units backed up by paratroopers surged through and began to roll the alien line up. It was like a house of cards once it began to fall. Within an hour the whole alien position had collapsed and they were in a full bore retreat.


	51. Chapter 51 Dawn of a new day

**Chapter 51- Dawn of a new day**

**Florence, Los Angeles**

With the alien line breached and the US Air Force owning the sky things began to change rapidly for the human forces intent on recapturing Los Angeles.

When the full weight of the 1st Armored Division echelon could be deployed after breaking out the aliens could not stand the ferocity of the assault against their positions. Their tactic had been to hold the humans in check along carefully sighted lines but once that had been broken they had no secondary positions. Instead of a tactical withdrawal to a better position the arrogant invaders threw their infantry caste reserves supported by Walking Gun in to try to stem the human armored flow but it was too late.

Units of the 101st Airborne had been mixed in with the tank squadrons providing close-in support adding to their already significant firepower. The aggressive paratroopers swarmed over the aliens like locusts.

The invaders had only one option: turn and run.

High above the battle General Daily and General McConville watched the action unfold protected by a trio of Apache Gunships. The escort though seemed unnecessary since the Air Force F16s and F22s had knocked most of the Wedge Ships out of the sky and remaining ones had scattered.

"Okay, Squids are on the run, what next?" McConville asked the theatre commander.

"We don't let them consolidate. No holding back, we go all the way until we break them," Daily answered firmly. "I also want the bridges at Terminal Island relieved as quick as possible."

"Already happening," the airborne commander confirmed. "I sent close air support and they've been resupplied. The Strykers should be there in a few hours."

"Okay, when they get there they hold until light. I do want units moving through the night and everyone in position to take the island at dawn," Daily ordered.

"That'll be cutting it close. The boys are tired," McConville answered cautiously.

"I know that be we can't let the squids regroup. We've got them on the run," the Marine officer declared pounding his fist for emphasis. "No let's grind them up. Mostly though I'm thinking about the next phase."

The squid reinforcements coming?"

"Yes," Daily confirmed. "We need as much time as we can get to get ready for them. Captain Blatchford, get in touch with Washington and give them a Sit Rep. Let them know we'll be ready to receive what we've been talking about."

**Terminal Island, LA**

"Covering fire!" Lt. Gordon yelled, as others saw the exhausted Marines trying to cross the channel. Mike and the remainder of the team scrambled as best they could down the ladder but progress was slow due to the variety of wounds they carried. A group of aliens appeared to try to stop their crossing. The Marine line on the opposite shore opened up with everything they had driving the infantry caste aliens back into the forest of shipping containers on the edge of the channel. A few alien grenades were half-heartedly launched at the retiring team but none got close.

The returning Marines loaded in as Private Ortega fired up the engine on the boat they'd left and with white water churning behind them they began to cross back over to the relative safety of the human position. For their part, the 2-5 contingent at the Vincent Thomas Bridge maintained a steady rate of fire to keep the aliens at bay while cheering their comrades on.

Reaching land Mike and the others were encouraged on by their comrades to make the dash to safety. One hundred yards from the defensive position Lockett finally collapsed from exhaustion and loss of blood. The team stopped and surrounded him but none had the strength or energy to help their fallen comrade. Instead, a dozen Marines leapt over the barricades and sprinted to help the man. Strong hands lifted Lockett gently up carrying him back while the remainder assisted the rest of the team and covered their return.

LCol Ritchie and Captain Harvel were there to greet them along with several medics including Doc Adukwu despite his own wounds.

"Good to see you back Gunnery Sergeant," the battalion commander declared, pounding Mike on the back.

"Good to be back sir," Mike winced in pain.

"Well done Gunny," Captain Harvel congratulated the man. "You saved our bacon."

"It wasn't just me sir," Mike reminded him, "and we lost some damn good men and one fine woman in the process."

The elation of the moment was checked by the reality of who hadn't made it back.

"Well, their sacrifice won't be forgotten. Neither will what you went through," LCol Ritchie commented. "Get yourselves patched up and get some food. Rest up, you earned it. Relief's on the way so hang tough and we'll get you evac'ed out of here."

Mike wandered blankly away, led by a corpsman. Then he saw Lt. Gordon. The handsome ex-track star had a mixed look of pain and relief. His brown eyes were glassy with emotion. The officer said nothing but came and embraced the Sergeant.

Mike stiffened at first then relaxed, returning the embrace. "You're no widow maker sir," Mike whispered in his ear, "you're a damn good officer."

"Thanks Nantz, that means a lot…but the rest of your team…," Gordon choked out.

"Is on me sir," Mike replied steadily.

"Go get yourself patched up Gunny," Gordon declared regaining control over his emotions as the words sunk in.

"Aye aye sir," Mike responded, snapping off a crisp salute.

The curse was lifted.

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

Casualties had been dropping off for the hospital in the rear area as the military advance moved farther away giving the harried staff a respite. Michele had been busy the whole day which was a good thing. She'd tried to keep busy, to keep her mind off of what might be happening with Mike. She knew worrying wouldn't help and tried not to but couldn't help herself when there was time to spare. So work had become her refuge. Near exhaustion after the pace of casualties Michele knew she needed to go to her home for rest but the thought of it and the demons who'd haunt her thoughts brought a lack of action.

Then she saw a sight that chased away the gloom.

"Father Alexander! Hector!" Michele cried out as she spotted the pair walking towards her. The priest seemed a bit troubled but relaxed. Hector was dirty and appeared to have lost weight. She'd had insinuations from the priest something was up with the boy but didn't know the details. In truth, she didn't want to know with all her worries about Mike. But she'd thought about the idea Mike had shared with her of adopting the boy and had warmed to the idea so seeing him again and well filled her heart with a strange joy. It was as if she knew something terrible had nearly happened to Hector but couldn't articulate it.

Hector broke free and ran to the woman, knocking into her with a massive hug which she returned. The boy held on fiercely and suddenly she knew this was not just a courtesy visit. Something had been going on. Suddenly she became fearful of what it meant.

"Is Mike alive?" Michele asked fearfully.

"I don't know but I pray he is," the priest said quietly, his eyes glassy.

"But…," she said, her voice choking.

"We'll just have to trust God. Hector wanted to see you. He has been going through some difficulties lately." The priest's voice trailed off as the topic made the boy upset so he tactfully changed the course the subject. "I did want to tell you though the attack on the front is going well. We've broken the alien defenses and have them on the run. The bridge Michael has been defending will be relieved shortly and I've been told they will be rotating those troops out first thing in the morning. I wanted you to know. Plus Hector wanted to see you."

"Will you let me know if you hear anything about him or at least when his unit is coming back?" the woman asked both filled with hope and fear for the imminent event. She knew she wouldn't sleep tonight.

"Definitely. I'll also keep trying to get a report but it's hard since radio traffic is pretty full right now and that type of communication isn't allowed," the priest answered, optimistic his friend was alive but not wanting to give the fragile woman a false sense of hope.

The answer satisfied Michele and she seemed to be at peace. "Okay, we'll wait until morning." She paused for a moment, lost in thought. Then her face brightened. "I believe," was all she said but the priest knew she had the same thoughts as him. Turning to Hector her heart warmed for the boy clinging to her side. She'd had her doubts about the adoption thing but suddenly the thought of losing Mike and everything she'd experienced the last few days brought a change in attitude. Not only was she ready for this but she wanted it.

Michele knelt down, hugged the boy again and asked, "So, what's been new with you?"

Instead of recoiling Hector spilled all that had been going on the last few weeks with him, almost as if the recollection had a purging effect. The story the young boy shared took nearly two hours giving Michele much to be distracted about.

**Abandoned industrial complex, somewhere outside Military Command Los Angeles Protective Zone, LA**

The Military Police swooped down on the Foundry in force. Armored Humvees rolled in securing a perimeter around the area while several transport trucks disgorged MP's and a large number of LAPD officers who had begun to work with them. As the Humvees ringing the site provided over watch with their 50 caliber machine guns the others swarmed through the buildings. Guns and drugs were seized, arrests were made. Warning were given to those wishing to live in this place outside the protection zone who did not seem to be involved in criminal activity but in the end those who wanted to stay were allowed.

As the other MP's searched the various rooms of the Foundry Gwen Langois went back to search the location of her gun battle. Something didn't add up. Why would this woman Maria fight like that over a simple matter of custody? Even kidnapping wasn't worth killing a cop over. So why?

A number of attendants from the Coroner's Office followed her in but she treated it as a crime scene. Before allowing them to begin removing bodies she knelt down besides Raul's still form. The Latino had a look of peace on his face despite the ugly wound in his chest. She remembered him jumping in front of the bullet meant for her. The tough Cajun said a prayer for him and then for herself realizing how easily the tables could have been turned. His was a selfless act of sacrifice that had already jolted the woman out of her cynicism. She'd prided herself on being able to read people but she'd totally missed the change in this man because of her past. She vowed to never make that mistake again.

Gwen felt a surge of emotion and her stomach begin to knot looking at the man and thinking about what he'd done. She was glad no one could see her face since she didn't want to ruin her fearsome reputation. Spontaneously the MP reached down and touched his cold face. "Good bye," she whispered.

Then there was Maria.

The contrast between the two dead people only feet apart was stark. Where Raul had given Maria Rincon had taken, causing all this death and suffering. At least the boy was safe. Now it was time to try to figure out why she did it.

Gwen searched the woman's effects nearby and found what she was looking for. A sheaf of papers was neatly folded inside a leather bag beside Maria's suitcase. The Military Police officer began to read the contents but had to stop several times. What was on the documents caused a chill to come over her. The letters detailed the impending sale of Hector to a group of people who were going to use him for….she couldn't read any further. The idea that people would still participate in stuff like this even during a time of war sickened the experienced officer. This was bigger then the Military Police. She would be putting in a call to the FBI when she got back to her headquarters. She crossed herself and thanked God again that she'd gotten involved. Hector was safe that was all that mattered right now. No one was going harm him. She'd make sure of that. As for the others at the Foundry, well she'd not get her way but they were done.

Taking the papers she needed as evident she turned to the people waiting to clear the bodies. "Okay, we're done here. Tag 'em and bag 'em," she ordered walking from the room.

An orderly moved towards Raul's body causing Gwen to stop mid-stride. "No, not dis one," she declared. "I take care of him myself."

Grabbing a body bag she went to the fallen hero and tenderly began to wrap him in what would become his funeral shroud.

**Terminal Island**

After Nantz and his team successfully returned to the defensive area the aliens did lay on several attacks but with the new air cover the humans enjoyed the efforts had little success and became half-hearted at best. Then after several hours things suddenly become very quiet just after dark. It seemed as if the aliens have disappeared, melting into the darkness of night. Tension mounted on the line, eyes strain into the dark, overcast night looking for signs of an impending attack while those with Night Optical Devices scanned for signs of a renewed attack.

Then the beleaguered Marines discover why the aliens had gone from their position.

The rumble of vehicles could be heard in the distance. Sporadic cannon and heavy machine gun fire broke the silence of the night. Attack helicopters flying over head cover could be seen in the night sky as the lead elements of the relief column come into view. Elements of the 1st Armored Division, supported by cavalry squadrons from the 101st Airborne pull up to the Vincent Thomas Bridge. Cheers erupted along the line as the remaining Marines greet their overdue relief. Men pour out of both sides and warm greetings were exchanged. The time and cost was forgotten for the moment as those in the defensive positions begin to relax.

Corporal Harris slumped down from the GPMG he'd been manning to sit with his back against a concrete abutment. Ortega and Imlay followed suit and began to let their guard down. They knew Lockett was okay but had to be left at the company aid station due the severity of the wounds so for the moment there seemed little to cause them stress.

"You think this is it?" Ortega asked hopefully, opening up an MRE packet.

"Yea man, for now anyway," Imlay answered.

"So now what?" the Latino Private asked, digging into the food.

"I suspect we'll be shipped back to the rear then the brass will figure out what to do next," Imlay answered.

That seemed to satisfy the man and his face relaxed.

"I can't wait to see Cherise," Harris commented, rubbing his scalp. "Man, that is going to be a sight."

"Your fiancé is fine Harris," Ortega commented.

"Yea, she is," he agreed, closing his eyes and picturing the woman he intended to marry.

Ortega became silent for a moment, deep in thought. Then he blurted out, "Hey, she got a sister?"

"Alejandro man, you take it all!" Imlay laughed.

While the three kibitzed Mike had a less than jocular look on his face. Despite his wounds he redressed himself and began to pack ammo.

Doc, who was still weak but continued to help in the aid station challenged him. "Gunnery Sergeant, what do you think you are doing?" he asked in his thick accent.

"Squids are beat for now and we got help. I'm going back in to get the bodies of my troops back while I still an."

Adukwu knew it was pointless to argue with the man so told Lt. Gordon what the NCO intended to do. The platoon commander came over to investigate.

"I hear you want to go back in and bring the bodies out Gunny," Gordon declared casually but still letting him know he knew what was going on. "What's your plan?"

"I owe it to them to bring them back sir. All of them," he stated firmly, a look of defiance on his face.

The compassionate officer thought about the declaration for a moment. "That makes sense but you're not going in alone. Let's talk to Captain Harvel and see what we can come up with."

Mike's shoulders slumped in relief. In truth he was exhausted and didn't know how to go about it. His usually sharp mind had been overloaded by everything going on so he'd not really had any plan but to go. Gordon was a good man and a good officer. Mike would follow his plan.

Though the company commander questioned the wisdom of the recovery mission LCol Ritchie didn't. As Mike relayed his desire and Lt. Gordon laid out the plan the understanding senior officer merely nodded his head in agreement.

"Grab some support from 1st Armored," Ritchie added once the plan had been laid out. "No sense going on foot. Plus, you can move fast and hit hard if you receive any resistance."

"Thanks sir…for understanding," Mike said, smiling faintly.

"Get it done. But when you get back you and your guys will be the first ones off this place. Choppers are coming in the morning to begin to rotate us to the rear," Ritchie confirmed, returning to his normal gruff manner.

With LCol Ritchie leading the way, Mike was able to secure support for the mission he felt called to. The officer commanding the relief column from the 1st Stryker Brigade Combat Team in fact was eager to lend support when he found out who it was for. Already word had gotten around about who had taken out the alien shield generator so people were eager to help the new heroes. So the Scout Platoon from 6 Squadron of the 1st Cavalry Regiment, who had been acting in a reconnaissance role, volunteered to take Mike, and now Imlay, Harris and Ortega on the mission. Lockett by this point had passed out from his wounds or he would have gone also.

With Abrams tanks from 1st Armored leading them across the bridge the platoon took over once they'd crossed. The M3A3 Bradley AFV's provided not only the speed necessary to accomplish the task but the firepower if confronted. While the three young Marines were spoiling for a fight now that they had the fire support Mike merely wanted to get in, recover the bodies and get out.

There was some light resistance initially but several bursts from the Bradley's 25mm cannon caused the infantry caste aliens to melt into the night. From then on they encountered no alien resistance on the island which was eerie.

Mike didn't care.

Sitting in a turret of the lead armored vehicle as it rumbled through the streets of Terminal Island Mike directed them to the spots where his team members had fallen. Despite the chaos of their mission and how quickly things had happened, the NCO had a surprisingly good recollection of where each had met their end. But then a true leader will not forget those types of things.

Working from the first man fallen to the last, where Santos had sacrificed herself to take out the shield generator each was recovered. At each stop the AFV's would fan out and cover the four Marines as they would go to place the body in a body bag. Each time Ortega began to weep openly for the one who didn't make it. None thought the lesser of him. His were honest, open emotions. Mike became quiet each time, saying a prayer for each before returning to the Bradley to get another.

With Santos' recovery Mike paused longer. There seemed no threat from the aliens so the platoon didn't seem to have to rush. Kneeling beside the Air Force Tech Sergeant's mangled body Mike saw himself in her place. He'd been willing to blow the charge and she'd taken his place. He was going home. She wasn't. Then he thought of her words: _you go and marry that pretty woman from the helicopter._ He would marry Michele, not just because of Santos' sacrifice, but because he began to desire for a life more than this. Suddenly he became eager for the end of the mission so he could see her, hold her, and tell her he loved her. The willing sacrifice of this unassuming service woman had solidified in his mind something he'd been afraid of: the need for commitment. He would commit and he would commit to Michele.

"Thank Elena," Mike whispered as he zipped her into the body bag. "I'll never forget you."

"You ready to go Gunny?" the platoon commander asked him, not wanting to break the reverence of the moment but also aware of how vulnerable they were. "We've been sitting here a while so should move out."

"Yea, let's get going, we're done here," Mike replied, picking the woman up by himself despite the pain in his shoulder. He'd re-opened the wound, he knew that, but it didn't matter. He owed that to Santos.

Sitting with the body bags of his dead comrades in the back of the Bradley Mike could finally begin to relax. They would all be going home. He would marry Michele. They would have a family. He also knew what he'd name his first daughter: Elena.


	52. Chapter 52 Forward looking

**Chapter 52 – Forward looking **

**Vincent Thomas Bridge, Terminal Island, LA**

Elements of the 1st Armored and 101st Airborne Division continued to arrive throughout the night as a sizeable force built up. Before first light they began to fan out and extend their hold beyond the narrow stretch of road they held to relieve the forces at the bridge. Neighborhood by neighborhood they pushed out making excellent progress but in truth there was little difficulty since the aliens had melted away. Things became eerily quiet though everyone knew the invaders were still there in force. But where?

Early in the morning a Blackhawk Helicopter ringed by a strong escort of Apache Gunships landed at the 2-5 command post. General Daily and his staff had arrived to not only meet with LCol Ritchie but take charge of the preparation for the coming alien reinforcement from the front.

"Sir, I still think this is a bad idea," General Grayback declared nervously. "We'd get a better idea of what's going on and all the information we need at the rear."

Captain Blatchford snorted but said nothing.

"I can appreciate that Marion," General Daily responded patiently though he was amused but the Reserve intelligence officer's take, "but we need a real-time assessment of what we're facing here. We don't have time for filters. I want the raw intel and then we'll figure out what we're doing. Plus I want to be here when our help from the Pentagon arrives."

"They're going to make it in time?" Captain Blatchford asked in surprise.

"Yep. I got word while we were flying here they'd reached the rear area all morning. They've been driving straight for two days only stopping for fuel."

"That gives us some interesting options," Blatchford declared.

"It does indeed," Daily agreed. "Now let's see what we can find out from the troops on the ground."

The group moved quickly towards the Marines waiting for them while bodyguards maintained a strong perimeter.

"Nice job Ken," Daily congratulated the Marine officer, shaking his hand.

"Thanks sir," Ritchie responded, fatigue etching his face. "It was touch and go for a while and we lost some good men but the 2-5 got the job done."

"We owe you guys a lot. Prep your people for evac. The 101st will be taking over your position. We're moving you back to the rear area this morning," the area commander confirmed.

LCol Ritchie motioned Captain Harvel to come over. "We're going to be moving out shortly. Get the companies ready to turn over the defenses to the airborne. Critical casualties and wounded out first, everyone else from there."

The Captain saluted and trotted off to begin the preparations.

"So, what now General? What's the plan?" Ritchie asked his commander.

"Well, your work here was real good but all it does is give us the chance to hold when the squids come in force," Daily declared grimly. "If the reports you sent me are true and they were planning on using this as a staging area we need to hold Terminal Island and regain the coast. We can't let more of them in."

"Makes sense. You ready for a tour of what you have to work with?" Ritchie asked.

Less then an hour later the area commander had an idea of what the lay of the land was. From there LCol Ritchie saw to the withdrawal of his forces from the two bridges. It didn't take nearly as many helicopters to bring out the remnant as it took to come in. Though melancholy at the losses the senior officer couldn't have been prouder of his troops. The 2-5 Marines had proven themselves and their sacrifices had made the stand about to come possible. He prepared to leave on the last helicopter out while paratroopers of the 101st Airborne took over the 2-5's position. Going to General Daily he wished him well.

"Well that's it. Good luck to you."

"Thanks again Ken for all your boys did. We owe you a lot," the commanding officer sincerely declared.

"Thanks for the opportunity sir. Give the Squids hell." Ritchie turned to move towards the idling helicopter when something caught his eye and he stopped dead in his tracks. A green Army tractor trailer truck pulling a long flatbed trailer came into view causing the seasoned warrior to do a double take. It was the item resting on a cradle on the trailer that gathered his attention. A long tube that looked like a cannon lay flat surrounded by some sort of derrick-like device. Behind it an Army cube truck followed then another tractor trailer and another cube truck. Two more such pairs were behind the first one.

"What is that?" LCol Ritchie asked curiously.

"It's a new weapon system the Pentagon is deploying to meet the arrival of the Squid reinforcements."

"Yea, but what is it? It looks like an artillery piece but its way too big."

"It is an artillery piece but a brand new one developed to reach the Squid ships as they move through our atmosphere," Daily explained.

"How can that be possible?" Ritchie wondered, forgetting for the moment his fatigue and waiting helicopter. "Only a rocket could do something like that."

"I don't quite understand all the technicalities of it but the design is patterned after the railway guns that were used in World War 1," Daily confessed. "The techies from Washington are calling it a Magnetic Accelerator Cannon or MAC gun for short."

"Okay, but how is that going to help us go after the Squid capital ships?" the Marine officer asked. "I mean it's still an indirect fire weapon with no real tracking. Wouldn't some kind of rocket system work better?"

"That was my contention exactly when it was presented to me," Daily agreed. "Again, I'm not the expert on this but my understanding is it marries the two systems together. The MAC's launch system allows for a higher rate of fire then rockets. The shell it delivers not only has a depleted uranium core but it emits a magnetic pulse when fired which responds to the particular metal arrangement the alien ships are made of. They figure it'll punch right through them."

"Interesting. So it uses a kind of sonar-like approach?" Ritchie asked, becoming more intrigued.

"In a way," Daily agreed. "But with these when it locks onto the metal it's calibrated for it fires a short accelerator rocket burst which combined with the magnetic pull of the ship it's heading towards…"

"Compounding the force incredibly."

"Exactly," General Daily exclaimed.

"Wow," Ritchie marveled as he thought of the implications of this new weapon system. "We might actually have a chance to win this."

**Somewhere over LA**

Mike found it hard to relax despite the fact he was sitting in a helicopter moving back to the rear area. His shoulder throbbed and he felt bone tired. Looking out the side of the chopper he saw a line of vehicles heading towards Terminal Island including several long transport trucks pulling flatbed trailers with some form of long gun on them. Expanding his view he saw tanks and Armored Fighting Vehicles fanning out and sweeping towards the coast like a broom cleaning a dirty floor.

The guilt he felt at leaving the front began to erode with the realization he wasn't needed anymore. It was no longer his fight. Rather then upset him he felt a wave of relief.

Mike didn't want to go back to the front. Not that he feared it; no, it wasn't that. He would go in an instant if needed but he wasn't needed anymore.

Right now Mike had business with Michele and Hector and wanted to spend time with them. He'd neglected them for too long, now it was time to even things out a bit. Suddenly a peace that not only could they win this fight but he didn't have to be at the center of it filled him. He laid his head back against the wall of the helicopter and closed his eyes. He hoped Michele would be at the helipad to meet him.

**Refugee Encampment and Military Command Los Angeles rear area, somewhere outside LA**

"Michele, they're coming back to the base," Kelly reported the news the distracted woman who had been unsuccessfully trying to fill in a simple report for the past half hour had been waiting for all morning. "Go now. We'll cover for you." The nurse hugged her friend reassuringly. "I'm sure everything will be okay."

Michele hugged her back with a mixed feeling of reassurance and dread but knew the die was cast and worrying would solve nothing. As she left the hospital several other of the staff wished her well. It seemed far more were pulling for her then she'd ever imagined.

The trip to the helipad was a blur of emotion. Hope soared, anxiety plunged, fear crept in but steadily she progressed until she reached the staging area.

The word must have gotten around since several other civilians and a few military personnel were shuffling around idly trying to will the time away. Michele joined the group waiting for the 2-5's helicopters ending up standing beside an attractive African-American woman. The two made eye contact and shared the same awkward smile.

"Hi, I'm Cherise," the one introduced herself.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Michele."

"You waiting for your man?" Cherise asked.

Michele thought back over the past several months and everything that had gone on, the barriers and obstacles she'd had but now were removed. She wanted to be in all the way, there would be no more hedging. "Yes I am," she answered, fingering the engagement ring she wore. She looked at the woman who was in the same boat she was, not knowing whether 'her man' was alive or not. Yet the woman had a look of peace and contentment on her face while she felt like she could vomit from anxiety as each minute passed, the tension rising.

"It's pretty tough, isn't it?" Michele asked. "The waiting..."

"Yea, it is but all we can do is trust the Good Lord and wait," Cherise answered. "But then that's the life we've chosen when we fell for a Marine."

Michele pondered the wise words from the woman who was likely ten years younger then her. Despite the confidence Cherise exuded Michele could also tell the young woman was edgy and nervous. Yet she trusted.

"So who are you waiting for?" Cherise asked.

"Mike Nantz."

"Gunny Nantz?" Cherise exclaimed. "Girlfriend, he's a keeper. He's saved my man's life more then once. That goes for all the guys. He's a good man. You look after him, okay? We all owe him."

"They're coming back!" someone shouted out to the gathered crowd, causing a buzz of nervous energy.

The sound of helicopters could be heard in the distance. Black dots morphed into Boeing Sea Knight helicopters steadily chop-chopping towards the helipad. It would be only a matter of minutes.

Michele pondered the request and all that had changed. _He is a good man. Its time I show him that. _ She was in all the way. "Don't worry, I plan on it," she replied though the other woman was now distracted, willing the helicopters to land faster. _Please, be on the helicopter Mike_ she thought to herself _and may Cherise's man be too._

The Sea Knights dropped from the sky and flared just above the ground before touching down lightly. Dust and debris was kicked up by the spinning of the powerful rotors so those waiting ducked away automatically to get away from it. Ground crew ran out to prepare for the disembarking of the Marines on the crafts. The first coming off were the wounded. Medical personnel from the Army Field Hospital along with several ambulances began to urgently remove the critically wounded for a speedy trip to the hospital.

Michele watched, biting her lip in fear and hope. She had relief and increased tension all at the same time when Mike wasn't part of that group. Once the wounded were off the rest began to disembark. She was struck by how tired they looked and the minor wounds many carried. As the Marines trudged off there were shouts of joy, questions about others and some spontaneous reunions.

Michele heard a squeal of delight beside her and Cherise was sprinting off towards a lean, bespectacled African-American Marine carrying a machine gun. He dropped the weapon and scooped the laughing woman into his arms. Watching the two twirl around in delight she couldn't help but getting choked up at the tender scene. She saw Corporal Imlay joking around with the pair but couldn't catch his eye.

The stream of Marines continued but was becoming a trickle and suddenly fear began to build like an icy grip. Mike was not there yet, he wasn't coming back.

Then she saw him.

Stepping off the last helicopter, walking beside an athletic looking African-American officer, though obviously wounded based on the bandages he wore he was alive and still standing. The two were in conversation so he hadn't noticed her yet. She smoothed out her shirt nervously, wanting to look her best, waiting for him to see, determined to show restraint.

That last about two milliseconds.

"Mike!" she screamed urgently. "Mike, I'm here!"

Tears filled the woman's eyes until her vision was blurry, she couldn't wait. To hell with dignity. As he turned towards the voice she ran as fast as she could towards him.

Mike heard his name called and turned to see Michele running towards him, face filled with tears, arms open. His face lit up as he saw the one thing that now mattered to him most at this moment. His mission was complete.

Michele saw him turn and the look on his face melted her heart. Despite the obvious fatigue and dried blood from several shrapnel wounds his look changed to one of obvious joy-filled love at seeing her. The strong smile she'd longed to see for so long broke out as he opened his arms to receive her.

For Mike, he saw her running towards him and the look on her face melted his heart. Despite the worry lines and obvious signs of fatigue from the long hours spent at the hospital seeing him brought a look of joy-filled security to her face. The mischievous smile that had captured his heart back on their original odyssey was back as he prepared to receive her.

They finally knew not only in their heads but now in their hearts too where they stood with each other and more importantly knew their future held each other. No longer would there be doubts or indecision, temptation or distractions. The two were about to become one flesh and one spirit.

The pair collided and their embrace could only be described as explosive. Each clung fiercely to the other, trying to bury themselves into the other. Michele began to weep as tears freely rolled down Mike's cheeks.

The seemingly impossible had happened. Months of strife, conflict, the pull of others and a war that had all conspired to keep them apart wasn't strong enough to prevent this intersection. They would become as one.

The pair broke from their clench, looking deeply into each other's eyes, drinking deeply of the well of love. Then Michele had the 'movie moment' she'd dreamed of for so long. As if time had slowed down, Mike leaned in as Michele closed her eyes and tilted her head up. Their lips met in a kiss that filled each with ecstasy. Though not overly deep, or terribly long, the significance was not lost on anyone who observed the happy scene. The intersection of Mike Nantz and Michele Trantor had just become a new route they were both about to travel together.

The pair was interrupted by a pair of clapping hands. Turning to see who had joined them in their celebration the couple was delighted to see Father Alexander standing not far away with Hector at his side. Without waiting for an invitation the two ran over to embrace the happy couple.

Forgetting the dignity of his position the priest threw himself weeping for joy at the happy sight, a balm for all the misery he'd been experiencing of late. There was good to be found after all even in the horror of war he realized and said a quiet prayer of thanks for the realization and the hope it imbued.

For Hector, the man who had saved his life and he looked up to was there, holding on to him and that was all that mattered though a small flicker of fear began to grow into a flame. What would happen to him now? The nice female Military Police officer had looked after him since what had happened at the Foundry and she really liked him. He had another dream though, a dream he was afraid to whisper in case it was stolen from him, a hope that gnawed at him.

"We're going to be a family," Michele declared to the pair that had arrived to celebrate with them.

"Praise God!" Father Alexander declared knowingly.

"That's nice Michele," Hector said, trying to sound cheery as his heart dropped. "I'm happy for you and Gunny Nantz."

"No, you don't understand Hector. WE are going to be a family," Michele responded, kneeling down beside him and taking his face into her hands. "We're getting married and then we want to adopt you."

Hector's knees buckled at the pronouncement he'd not even dared dream about. Tears clouded his eyes as he began to weep with joy.

Mike put his hand affectionately and protectively on the boy's shoulder and Hector knew without a doubt he'd not only be safe again but happily safe. His intersection had happened too. They were going to be a family.


	53. Chapter 53 Endings and beginnings

**Chapter 53: Endings and Beginnings**

**Terminal Island, LA**

With the 2-5 Marines replaced and the 101st fully in position the push to secure Terminal Island could begin. Several squadrons of Abrams tanks and AFV's from 1st Armored were called up to assist in the undertaking. The first order of business though was the destruction of the alien docking facility that Mike and his team had discovered on the center of the island. Before anyone moved in the structure was saturation bombed by the Air Force using a combination of bombers and precision strikes. After a half-hour the whole area was nothing more then a smoldering wreck of twisted metal and black concrete. No one would be landing there anytime soon.

Though he was leaving the coming operation up to the leaders of the units involved General Daily did want to make sure everything was going to go smoothly before returning to his headquarters. The human forces had little room for error since the time they had to prepare for the coming alien reinforcements wasn't very long.

"Okay Major," the Daily asked one of the officers from his operations team, "what have you got?"

Major Cramner looked at the notes he'd taken over the past hour and gave his report. "All units are in place or moving so we're good to go. The ones who took heavy casualties in the run up here have been rotated back and replaced. We have critical mass but just and very little in reserve. Resupply has been completed or will be by the end of the day. Anything we have left beyond the front line though has been banged up pretty bad and is in a depleted state. So…"

"So what we have right now is all we have," the area commander filled in the blank the nervous ops officer didn't want to.

"Yes sir, that's correct," Cramner answered. "In terms of geography, the two remaining bridges are intact and secure which is fortunate so we have easy access to the island. The coast is in the process of being secured and our supply lines seem pretty good."

"Then we're in good shape," Daily prodded.

"For the time being, we do seem to be," the Major confessed reluctantly.

"Good. Thank you Major," Daily responded trying to not show irritation with the hesitant Army officer. He then turned to his intelligence officer. "What do you have for me Christie?"

Captain Blatchford adjusted her glasses then began to share her findings. "Squid resistance seems to be broken in the Greater LA area. There are a few pockets where they still seem to have significant numbers but nothing too major. We've hemmed them in and are allowing the Air Force and artillery to deal with the threat rather then risk more of our ground assets."

"So we are getting a bit thin on the ground?" Daily questioned, being able to read between the lines.

"That's not really my area but it does seem like we are a bit stretched," Blatchford confessed, "but I believe we have enough to get the job done."

Daily nodded his head grimly, mentally calculating the human cost of getting them to this point. He swore to himself he would end this now in order to stop the misery. He wasn't going to hold back. "So what about Terminal Island?" he asked quietly.

"We had a couple of aerial flyovers over with Predator drones to freshen up our intel," Blatchford continued. "Colonel Ritchie's guys were bang on with their assessment on what the Squids were building on the island. It was definitely some sort of de-embarkation point. I'm glad we found out about it and pushed the way we did. Anyway, there doesn't seem to be a lot of the enemy there but we do need to go in, finish them off and ensure the docking facility isn't able to be rebuilt in case we can't hold the island."

_We owe those guys who held these bridges and took that shield down a lot _General Daily thought to himself. "Thanks for the assessment. I like what I'm hearing." The Area Commander turned to one of his staff officers who stood close by waiting for instructions. "Give the order to General Cooper to move in and secure the island. I don't want one of those things left standing and I don't want a Squid moving anywhere but into a grave. His boys will have A10 and Apache backup throughout. Tell him to get it done and get it done quickly."

The Army Captain snapped a smart salute and trotted off to ensure the order was carried out.

"Okay, so that's where we stand. Now let's look ahead," Daily proclaimed, signaling it was time to consider the coming threat. "What assets do we have to work with going forward?"

"You know our troop situation Sir and where they will ultimately be placed," Colonel Weeks answered, "that hasn't changed. Ground forces are in place and those deployments ordered by you at Captain Blatchford's suggestion," the operations officer shot the woman a dirty look but said nothing," are beginning now. The new heavy guns from Washington have arrived which you've seen so all we need to do is deploy them. The Navy is on standby and will move into position to meet the drop. We have an Aircraft Carrier Battle Group and two Destroyer Squadrons standing by. We're also getting support from the Western Fleet of the Canadian Navy who will back us up. Air Force has moved several additional squadrons of bombers and fighters into a forward staging area. Everything will be in place when the aliens break through our atmosphere if they come here."

"What about nukes?" Daily asked quietly.

"They have arrived and we've gotten the green light from the President to use them," the S3 confirmed uneasily.

"Sir, I don't think that option is one that…" Captain Blatchford interjected but her voice trailed off, unable to finish her thought for the horror it brought to mind. The usually outspoken officer's voice dropped off, not sure what to say on the subject. No one did.

General Daily breathed heavily. "No one wants to turn LA into a wasteland but we also can't let the Squids get out of this area either. If we can't hold them then we need to contain them," the commanding officer declared grimly. "All right, our job here is done. Let's get back to headquarters and get ready for the main event."

**The Pentagon, Washington DC**

Before anyone wanted, but all knew was coming, the moment of truth arrived.

"Sir, we have multiple signals just outside earth's atmosphere in a tight formation," a satellite operator reported in the operations room that had been set up to monitor the inbound alien arrival.

"Okay, send the information out on the net to all stations. Have them ready to receive invaders," The General commanding the area responded. "It's time to warm everything up."

This was no surprise, they'd known the new invasion fleet was coming and had been correct in their assessment of when the aliens would arrive to the half hour. No one was about to make the mistakes of the previous year and miss this arriving space-born threat again. The big issue now though was where they would go when they arrived.

Thus far the aliens had stuck close together on a trajectory that took them over the middle of the Pacific Ocean so it was anyone's guess as to where they would land. For the human defenders that meant deploying resources ahead of time in anticipation of where they would land since there would be no time to react and reach them before they hit the ground. If they followed the pattern from last time they would disperse to multiple locations but which ones and in what force?

"Sir, alien capital ships are beginning to slow down and break formation. At current decelerating speed they'll hit our atmosphere in less then one hour," a female Air Force operator added to the initial report, tension thick in her voice.

"Any destinations determined yet?" the commanding officer asked with anticipation. This was the moment of truth. The heads of the Pentagon had made a gamble by sending the bulk of their resources to the West Coast, anticipating the major invasion would happen there. If wrong it would turn out to be disastrous.

"No clear indication yet though it looks like the first group is heading to the East Coast," the Air Force Sergeant reported. "Wait one; it should be clearer in about five minutes."

A groan went up from several of the analysts who were watching the drama unfold. It seemed as if they'd guessed wrong. Several began to move towards computers and phones to report the results but the commander of the unit waved them off to wait.

The nearly three hundred ticks of the clock it took to get clarity on the direction and amount deployed of the alien reinforcements felt like it took three hundred years.

"We have a clear pattern sir of the alien deployment," the first operator called out. "They've broken into two groups. The first group appeared to be a feint. The second group comprises nearly eighty-five percent of their arriving force."

"Where is it heading?"

"Los Angeles."

**Area Headquarters, LA Theatre of Operations**

"General, an alien deployment report is coming in from Washington," Colonel Weeks called out, a note of fear in his voice.

"Talk to me. What have we got?" General Daily answered in a level tone.

"It looks like we're getting nearly the whole alien force arriving here," the Operations Officer's voice broke partway through.

Though the commanding officer felt the same wave of panic that was consuming his S3 he wouldn't show it. "Good. Sounds like the Pentagon was correct in their assessment. We have what we need to get the job done. Relay this information and all the inbound trajectories to our forward command post at the island. Signal the fleet off the coast to prepare, everyone goes to Battle Stations. It's game time."

**Terminal Island and Coast**

_Boom_

_Boom_

_Boom Boom_

The four MAC guns erupted, spitting their 300lb shells towards the alien capital ships that had slowed down as they broke through the earth's atmosphere. The titanium encased depleted uranium slugs screamed towards their objective, the internal homing system kicked in waiting for a lock on their target.

Back at the gun platforms the rear breech had swung open and small forklifts were bringing fresh rounds to the loading conveyor attached to each gun. At the Fire Control Centre technicians were tracking the opening salvo, nervously waiting to see if the theory of how this should work would turn into reality. A full bird Colonel of artillery oversaw the operation and he stood behind the monitors absently chewing one of his fingernails. No one had to tell anyone in the room what was at stake here.

"All MAC rounds have acquired signals. Less then a minute to impact," a technician reported to the commander.

"Thank you Sergeant," the Artillery officer answered. Then to a communications NCO ordered, "Patch us in to General Daily at the Area Headquarters. He'll want to know what's going on in real time."

"Salvo Two is ready to fire," a Captain in charge of Fire Control reported. "We have good solutions and are awaiting orders. Should we wait for impact of Salvo One?"

"Negative. Let's get as many slugs in the air as we can before they know what's coming. All guns fire," the Colonel ordered.

The ground shook in the command centre as the four large cannons erupted anew sending another volley up into the atmosphere.

Back at the Area Headquarters General Daily wondered again if he should have left the forward area. He felt helpless back in the rear but then there were still skirmishes going on inside the city besides the coming reinforcement threat from space. In the last ten minutes numerous alien companies had come out of hiding and begun to fight anew, as if knowing their help was on the way.

The area near Terminal Island where the MAC guns had been set up were receiving particular attention from the Squids who seemed to figure out the humans were planning a response. Daily was thankful he'd reinforced the area with an additional squadron of tanks and two battalions of paratroopers. But that left the rest of the area between the new front and the rear area exposed. There was even a perceived threat against where they were so tensions were high. They had to stop the alien reinforcements or they were finished. In less then a minute they'd know if their new weapon would help them in this seemingly impossible task.

"What do we have assessing the impact of our artillery?" General Daily asked his operations people, trying to kill the agonizing time until the report since he already knew the answer but didn't want to be alone with his thoughts.

"NASA retasked a satellite to our AO so we have good eyes on. We also have two AWACS on station for the closer in stuff," General Grayback reported. "We should have a good sense of what's happening in a few seconds."

Both the Fire Control Headquarters at Terminal Island and the Area Headquarters in the rear had access to the same data at the same time so each group found themselves spontaneously counting down the time to impact.

Seven-six-five-four-three-two-one…..impact!

"Talk to me. What have we got?" General Daily demanded to both teams.

"A Major assessing the impact in the Fire Control Centre feverishly tapped away on the keyboard at his terminal trying to find out what happened. "Okay, rounds one, two and four hit their target, round three missed. Salvo two in-bound and will impact in less then three minutes."

"Damage though! What about damage?" Daily yelled.

"Ahh…unsure. There was impact but no visible signs of damage," the Major magnified the image he studied, looking for information as the satellite relayed both video and still pictures. There doesn't seem to have been any damage from the rounds."

A load groan spontaneously rose up in both headquarters at the sobering information. How would they stop them now?

"Should we activate our nuclear assets Sir?" General Grayback asked a bit too enthusiastically.

"No, hold on. We need more info," Daily shot back.

"Wait! Wait a second," the Major in charge of damage assessment called out. "I can see two of their ships are listing, they seem to have lost power. The third…yes, the third has visible fires erupting along its superstructure. We've damaged them!"

The groans turned into giddy cheers.

"Pipe down," the controller yelled, "next salvo is about to hit."

The room fell silent as they waited for the report of continued success.

"Yes," the officer pumped his fist in the air. "Three more impacts!" he reported then fell silent as the room waited for the assessment. "Initial footage shows those ships are out of commission. We did it!"

The air filled with more cheering as the MAC guns fired again.

"Stay focused people," the Colonel ordered. "This is far from over. Keep tracking the inbounds." Looking over the shoulder of his team he asked, "Where are we at right now?"

"Alien ships are trying to break from their approach vectors," an analyst reported.

"Are they able to do that and not crash?" another member of the analysis group called out to his team.

"Unknown but the firing solution of the last salvo is off," someone called out. Despite the rising tension the professionalism of the artillery team was shining through.

"Very well, recalculate," the officer commanding ordered. "These Squid ships aren't Jet Skis. They can't turn on a dime."

The next salvo was a complete miss. The Colonel was correct though. The large alien capital ships began to follow a set course once they'd made their adjustments which gave the humans a chance to respond anew. The MAC's fired again and this time their next series of salvos took out two more ships.

The pattern of movement and adjustment between the two adversaries went on for a short while longer. In the time it took for the alien ships to change course while still descending towards the West Coast the humans had been able to cripple or destroy half of the armada.

Now it was time for the Navy.

"Admiral Gumataotao, it's up to you and your Battle Group," General Daily reported through a direct link to the Rear Admiral commanding Carrier Strike Group 11 that had been standing by off the coast.

"Sounds good General," the Admiral responded enthusiastically. "I'm glad we can get in the fight. I have two squadrons of F18's on the deck ready to go and I'll bring my two Destroyer Squadrons to bear. We have the approach vectors of the aliens from you and will keep them penned in. None of these bastards are going to get to land."

"Keep me posted Admiral, we'll be standing by to take out any that don't go into the water," Daily noted with relief at the confidence of the sailor.

"Very well. Good luck, God speed," Gumataotao signed off then turned to his Executive Officer. "Captain, I want Destroyer Group 5 covering the North and East, Destroyer Group 7 on the South and West. Also, signal our Missiles Cruisers. I want the Port Royal and Lake Champlain in tight. I don't want anything hitting us. Got it?"

The Naval officer relayed the orders and in short order the Navy was prepared to receive the alien deployment aimed just off the coast.

Destroyer Squadrons 5 and 7 posted themselves with their ten capital ships supported also by four destroyers from the Royal Canadian Navy. The lessons of the previous year had been learned. These were no Coast Guard ships but rather capital ships ready for war, their 5-inch guns and Sea Sparrow missiles loaded and ready to engage. As soon as their ship's computers had firing solutions dozens of surface-to-air missiles lit up the sky in search of targets. Those alien capital ships that got through the deadly fire were engaged at close quarters by the deck guns of the destroyers. The few that actually made it into the water were then bombarded by the Navy F18s from the aircraft carrier USS Nimitz and Air Force F15 Strike Eagles. It was a total annihilation.

On land, though most of the alien ships seemed to be aware their docking facility of Terminal Island had been destroyed, a few smaller crafts tried to land on Terminal Island. They were met by concentrated fire from Abrams tanks. After all this, the few Infantry Caste aliens who staggered onto land were mowed down by the paratroopers of the 101st Airborne who were eager for revenge.

The aliens left from the original invasion seemed to realize their reinforcements had been obliterated or perhaps they'd been given a general order of evacuation. Regardless, all disengaged in short order and began to make their way to Santa Monika, the site of their original incursion seeming to want to retreat. Alien ships that had been lying below the surface seemed to be remotely signaled to rise in order to receive the several thousand alien soldiers still on the ground trying to get away from the now relentless pursuit of the humans.

But Captain Christie Blatchford had anticipated this. The observant newspaper reporter had poured over aerial photographs and thermal images weeks earlier curious as to how many infantry caste aliens had been able to come onto shore after a relatively few number of splashes off shore. She'd been able to determine their drop ships were resting on the bottom in shallow water waiting for a moment like this.

The Reserve Intelligence Officer had been right and the humans were ready for it.

First B1b Lancer bombers saturated the area dropping a combination of Mk-82 General Purpose bombs and Mk-62 Quickstrike sea mines. The water boiled as the alien ships were shredded. Next a wall of steel formed along the coast as redeployed squadrons from 1st Armored and the remaining Marine units from the West Coast hungry for revenge unleashed their fury on the now-trapped invaders.

None walked away.

The aliens who had been holding LA tried to leave but didn't get far. The frustration and rage of the past year was channeled into that moment and none left the earth.

Over the course of the day what had hours earlier seemed impossible had actually happened. The humans had won.


	54. Epilogue After LA

**Epilogue: after LA**

**Los Angeles**

The guns fell silent as the last alien ship was destroyed and the final grotesque invader eliminated. The battle for Los Angeles was over. In the aftermath, tanks and AFV's scoured Terminal Island and the surrounding area while attack helicopters roared up and down the coast area around Santa Monika looking for signs of any more resistance.

There was none.

The alien reinforcements had been knocked from the sky. Pieces of broken ships littered the ground around the greater Los Angeles area. Already scientists from NASA and members of the NSA poured over what lay on the ground. Trucks were standing by and already a number of pieces had been moved away to labs. Though a seemingly routine undertaking it signaled a significant statement: the invaders who had been on the ground for over a year had been stopped.

There were no prisoners though, the material remnants of the vicious invader. Any attempt to get the infantry caste aliens to surrender had been met with dogged resistance or in many cases the Squids had opted for suicide. Now all that remained were the corpses and their abandoned vehicles.

Those service personnel of the US military that had fought so hard for so long had an opportunity to collect their breath before the daunting task of cleaning up and rebuilding LA began.

"Hellova fight Ron," General McConville declared as he and the area commander toured the aftermath of the fight on Terminal Island.

"It was a tough one but the troops did well," Daily replied, involuntarily wincing every time they passed a burned out human vehicle or body that had not yet been recovered. He'd given orders that everyone was to be accounted for, no matter what. The African American senior officer knew he would have a lot of nightmares over this.

"Any idea how long me and the boys will be here?" McConville asked Daily, catching the vacant stare starting to form so wanting to distract him.

"Well, for sure until we know there's no more threat," the officer responded, snapping out of it since there was still a task at hand, "though I suspect that's finished. But we'll also keep you around until things are stabilized in the city and the police can take over. That could take a while," he declared looking back over his shoulder at the broken city across the bay.

"We're not going anywhere," McConville stated. "We can stay as long as you need us."

The pair returned from their tour and rejoined the command group at the forward operating area's headquarters. While most of the officers were talking loudly and sharing stories of the recent events one sat off by herself not becoming involved in the talks of bravado. Captain Blatchford had a notebook computer on her lap and was tapping away rapidly on the keys.

Noticing General Daily and the commander of the 101st Airborne approach she stopped, closed the lid, adjusting her glasses. "So, find anything interesting?" the Reserve officer with a hint of sarcasm.

Daily chuckled and shook his head at the cheeky reporter. "No, just seeing things for myself. I…I had to…for closure," he confessed.

"I understand," Blatchford answered with a voice suddenly empathetic and nodding her head in understanding. "It's going to take some time to process all this."

"That's for sure. So, Christie, if anyone thinks this is over, they've got another thing coming," Daily declared, suddenly becoming serious. "The Squids are still out there somewhere and we need to be ready if they decide to come back. I could use a good staff intelligence officer permanently what do you think?"

"Thanks for the offer sir but I'd like to get back to doing some writing," the reporter's brow furrowed showing the offer not only caught her off guard but intrigued her, "maybe try to remember what a normal life looks like."

"I bet you got a few good stories to write," McConville interjected.

Blatchford snorted. "Yea, a few." Turning to General Daily, her eyes glowed, "But if you need me, I'll be there."

**The United Nations, New York City**

The United Nations were finally able to meet after hostilities ended to chart a course for the world's future following the desperate war they'd fought. In the green room behind the platform of the main council chamber a group of military officers waited to be called out for the gathering of a special sitting of the General Assembly of the UN that had been called to not only review the war but share with the world the course of action for the future. So as the group waited to be called for their part of the presentation they watched CNN on a large flat screen TV. A special report on the aftermath of the war was going on and despite the venue none wanted to miss it.

In an unprecedented move CNN anchors Piers Morgan, Soeldad O'Brien and Wolf Blitzer had combined their skills to bring this recap of the situation in the United States and around the world.

After preliminary comments viewers were given an update on the world situation. The initial report focused on the tough-fought but total victory which was old news. But then they began to report on, and assess, some of the big changes in the new world order that seemed to be coming out of the war. China had suffered attacks second in intensity only to the US and had been on the brink of collapse. Without hope, Japan and South Korea voluntarily came to their aid throwing aside historical differences for the good of the region saving the day in the end. The Chinese' sense of honor drove them to a new relationship and stability in region. Interspersed video clips showed smiling delegations from each country shaking hands in a gesture of friendship. Rippling out from that, North Korea had then been forced to change their ways by their ally who no longer was willing to prop up the vicious regime. Surprisingly, the isolationist nation did a miraculous change, welcoming the new way of thinking. Another clip showed the beginning of dismantling of the DMZ between the North and South.

In the Middle East attacks from Muslim terrorists taking advantage of chaos of the alien invasion so revolted the people they rose up and threw off groups like Al Qaeda. Images of leaders who had previously been supported and hidden by oil-rich nations now being led off to prison or execution showed optimism for the volatile region and the rest of the world.

Perhaps some good had come out of the horror of this invasion as people finally began to realize we are all in this together so set aside historic animosity and ego for the common good of mankind. After so much darkness the rays of hope broke through the clouds.

Overall, the United States' sharing of knowledge and lessons-learned during the conflict had been acknowledged as being critical to the salvation of many nations which changed long-standing hostile attitudes towards the US in the world. This brought the opportunity for a new level of co-operation and development that many were excited about. Though the world had won the destruction and loss of life around the world had been huge. The need to rebuild would require the efforts and contributions of all the nations. It seemed as if people were finally ready to give it and work together.

The three anchors then shifted from the world report to a synopsis and recap of what had happened in the United States. The actions on the West Coast were shared with an almost breathless sense of awe by the seasoned reporters. It was a greater story then any author could have come up with, how outnumbered and outgunned the beleaguered human defenders had won the day. Names like Santos, Blatchford, Adukwu, Ritchie, Lockett and Imlay and numerous others joined that of Nantz becoming household names synonymous with bravery and sacrifice. On the East Coast, the one MAC gun that had been deployed had been enough to save New York and the troops in that area that'd in the end possessed more then enough for the small alien contingent.

The anchors switched to a correspondent on Wall Street who reported that with the aliens gone the clean up and rebuilding of the attacked cities was already beginning. Some were predicting it would create another economic boom. The stock market had reopened and already showed the optimism of the future.

The rapid-fire program then shifted to NASA headquarters in Washington where another reporter had been informed the space agency and the NSA was beginning to study the alien technology with plans to reverse engineer it. Already a critical discovery had been made in space travel courtesy of a grounded alien capital ship. The director of NASA then came on to report that if the aliens, or any others like it, returned in the future, man would be ready for them and given time, could go out into space and get them.

From Washington the focus shifted to Terminal Island LA and an update on the heroes of the defense and those who had taken part in destroying the alien shield generator. It was announced that Air Force Tech Sergeant Elena Santos had been awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor posthumously for sacrificing her life to blow up the device. Gunnery Sergeant Mike Nantz had been awarded a Navy Cross to go with the CMH he'd still not received. The report added he was to receive it at a special ceremony at the White House in two weeks. Other members of the team had all been awarded a Defense Distinguished Service Medal. A curious and intriguing story was also reported about a Navy Corpsman named Jibril Adukwu who had single-handed rescued a downed Navy pilot during the defense of the bridges to Terminal Island. The selfless act of courage had brought him recognition across the nation which went along with an announcement of him being award the Navy Cross. Finally, the 2nd Battalion of the 5th Marines had been awarded a Presidential Citation not only for their bridge defense but actions throughout the campaign.

The broadcast flipped to the Pentagon where one of the members of the Joint Chief's of Staff was announcing to a packed gallery the issuing of an Alien Defense Campaign Medal to all who had participated in the war against the invaders. The usually reserved reporters broke into applause at the worthy recognition. Yes, many things were changing.

"Sorry, but we're going to interrupt the press conference at the Pentagon," Piers Morgan broke in on the reporter at the Pentagon, "to take you live to the United Nations Headquarters in New York where the Secretary General of the UN is about to address not only the delegates but the world. We switch you there now…."

Ban Ki-moon stepped before the podium and seemed uncharacteristically nervous. People watching began to wonder if he had some bad news to share or the weight of all that had gone on finally overwhelmed him. Adjusting his glasses he turned and faced the television cameras and the assembly. "Ladies and gentlemen not only of the United Nations but also of the world watching now," he began in excellent English though tinged with a Korean accent, "I am pleased to announce the cessation of hostilies around the world with our alien invaders. No longer is there any direct threat from them. We have suffered for well over a year under attack without provocation while our attempts to dialogue with these invaders went unanswered or answered by brazen attack. It was only through the unprecedented co-operation of the nations of the world we were able to overcome this. We have learned a valuable lesson in the importance of working together I trust we will never forget. The cost in human lives has been extreme and the economic impact staggering. But we are resilient and we will rise up from the ashes. We still stand!"

A polite round of applause was given for the statement everyone already knew. The never before seen co-operation especially among the most powerful nations was already the talk of the world giving rise to the hope for the dawn of a new era, good coming out of tragedy. That was not why the people were tuning in.

Secretary-General Moon finished his preamble and got to the point. "Though the co-operation we enjoyed has brought change we also must be aware now that we are not alone in the universe. We have been attacked without warning and may be again. Therefore, I am pleased to announce that steps are being taken to address any future threat from space. By unanimous approval of the Security Council I am pleased to announce the formation of our newest division, the United Nations Space Corp. The UNSC will be funded equally by the nations of the Security Council and will act as our military arm for future space endeavors. We have all realized the responsibility does not belong to any one nation to bear so all will be working together on this. At this time I am also honored to announce its first commander, a man who showed his meddle in the recent campaign in the Los Angeles Theatre of Operations. Please welcome General Ronald Daily of the United States Marine Corp."

The assembly responded with thunderous applause as the delegates broke into a spontaneous standing ovation. General Daily walked confidently towards the podium, a look of resolution on his face to accept the charge.

**The White House, Washington DC**

Mike fidgeted in his dress blues, feeling uncomfortable. The fall day had been perfect for the outdoor event, sunny with a nip in the air but he'd always been more at ease in his combats then the dress uniform. The attention he'd been receiving in the iconic uniform made him even more so. Across from where he and the others from his company stood at ease there had to be at least a hundred video cameras and another hundred photographers in the press gallery.

_Remember, the people need heroes, _Michele had reminded him so he stopped fidgeting.

Mike stole a glance down at the shining gold wedding ring on his finger then lifted his eyes to scan the crowd. He saw Michele sitting in the front row of the VIP area looking beautiful in a tailored navy blue dress. The look on her face as she stared at him melted his heart: unbridled love. Sitting beside her, holding her hand was Hector who looked handsome in the suit he didn't want to wear but doing it for the occasion. The paperwork for adoption was already going through. Soon they'd be together as a family legally.

Father Alexander had married them and Mike could see the priest sitting in the gallery with a peaceful look on his face. The couple had met with him for a brief session of pre-marital counseling and would continue to do so. Mike was determined they would make it and what had happened in his previous marriage wouldn't. Both wanted to experience the same thing: the joy of the two becoming one flesh in more then the physical. Besides, the couple had Hector to look after and neither was going to let him down.

The priest had introduced them to a tough-looking Military Police officer named Gwen Langois who he'd told them was instrumental in rescuing Hector from his scheming aunt. Michele and Mike owed her a debt they couldn't repay. The Cajun brushed it off but the couple could see she'd been moved by the experience. The soldier had told them she was going to be leaving the Army to join the reforming LAPD so she could more directly help kids especially in need. The police department was getting a great asset.

The newly married couple had discussed what to do with Hector's name and had decided to leave it as it was in tribute to the boy's heroic father. They would allow him the option to change it or keep the status quo when he was of age and could decide on his own. They knew what a gift they were receiving in the new son but didn't need to deny his heritage to show it. The couple was determined he'd keep his identity and they'd build off of it. Besides, they were excited about building their own family. Mike's eyes twinkled as he thought about the pleasant process to get there as he listened to a senior senator of Congress begin to speak following the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

"How much longer is this going to go on?" Lockett declared to his friends under his breath as the politician droned on and on. The newly promoted Sergeant turned his head slightly to talk to the other survivors of the attack on the shield generator.

Lockett, Harris, Imlay and Ortega had all been brought with Mike to the White House to receive their medals along with their battalion commander LCol Ritchie and their platoon commander, the recently promoted Captain Gordon. Each of the men in turn had been promoted. Ortega had been elevated to Corporal, Harris and Imlay to Sergeant. Right now though Imlay was wrestling with the offer he'd received of promotion to officer for the leadership he'd shown. Though tempted by the offer he also felt bad Lockett hadn't been given the same opportunity. The handsome African American had laughed at his friend's sentimentality and told him to do it since they needed good officers.

Kevin Harris kept looking at his wife out of the corner of his eye. The bespectacled Marine had finally been able to marry Cherise. His bride sat beside Hector in the VIP gallery looking stunning in a form-fitting white dress.

Now Corporal Ortega caught the look and chuckled at the star-crossed lover. "Your wife is fine Mano. Too bad Cherise didn't have a sister."

"Yea, but she does have a cousin," Harris reported in a low voice.

"Bro!" the Mexican Marine beamed and the others couldn't help but chuckle causing a sharp look from the Marine Sergeant-Major at the end of the line who had been escorting them.

The foursome of friends did their best to stifle their laughter but couldn't. The elation of the moment, being alive, and now being celebrities was a bit much to take. Though the Sergeant-Major chided them no one else in the assembled group thought the lesser of the men. Their stories were legendary. Everyone knew they'd been to Hell and back so allowed them some frivolity.

The preliminary speeches ended and finally it was time for the President to present the medals. They went out in order of precedent and finally there was only Mike's. The seasoned warrior felt a sudden surge of panic at the attention as every camera focused on him as the President walked up to him. Mike looked to Michele who beamed. The President could sense the unease of the warrior so with a twinkle in his eye gave him a wink which set Mike at ease. The President took first the Navy Cross then the Congressional Medal of Honor and pinned them on Mike's dress uniform. Then in a surprising breech of protocol the Commander-in-Chief stepped back and snapped off a salute at Mike. Stunned at the gesture he automatically returned it. The crowd gasped at the gesture then broke into applause.

It had been prearranged that Mike would says some words of acceptance so he followed the President to a microphone set up in front of the gallery. He stepped up, gulped and took a deep breath. He saw Father Alexander give him a thumbs up and he spoke. "Mr. President, members of Congress, ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for the honor bestowed on me this day and the recognition you've given me. I've said before I was not worthy of this honor but I appreciate it. I accept this on behalf of all the Marines in E Company of the 2nd Battalion 5th Marines who didn't make it and didn't get the chance to be recognized for their sacrifice. They are the heroes today, the ones who are not with us. I also accept this on behalf of Second Lieutenant William Martinez who if not for his sacrifice I or most of the men before you would not be here. He is the true hero today and one that should be remembered. I accept this in his honor."

Mike then abruptly stopped speaking as his voice choked and in a moment not on the script he suddenly walked towards the gallery to where Michele sat. Beside her, holding his wife's hand, was Kathy Martinez and her baby. As reporters scrambled to get into position and Public Affairs Officers whispered frantically to slow down, Mike removed his Congressional Medal of Honor and pinned it on the baby boy. Starting to cry Mike declared, "This should have gone to him. This is from a grateful nation and a grateful man. Thank you." Kathy was weeping by this point. The emotional woman stood up and hugged Mike. They held onto each other for a few moments then with still tear-stained eyes Mike marched back to the line ramrod straight, did an about face and stood with the others.

That moment would be replayed for years to come and would define the war effort in many ways.

With great dignity the President moved from the line of Marines towards a podium with the Seal of Office on it. For a moment he too seemed overwhelmed by the situation and had to stop to wipe tears from his eyes. He paused again as his advisors cringed and the cameras continued to roll. The President of the United in that moment knew this was not about politics. Taking the leather bound folder sitting on the podium which contained his speech he closed it and instead talked to the gathered group and by extension the people of the United States from the heart. "I have been deeply moved today in a way I haven't in many years. We all know about the courage of those assembled before us and we've heard already about what they've done. But it's time for us to move beyond the observation of these and thousands of other heroes of this war and start to live by the things they stand for. Its time for us to put away false heroes and look to those who selflessly give of themselves willingly for a cause greater then themselves. President Kennedy once said 'ask not what your nation can do for you but what you can do for your nation' and I echo those words today. I am ashamed that it's taken a war of this magnitude to remind me of that need and I want to change. My fellow Americans, I want us as a nation to finally put partisan divisions aside for the good of the country. For my colleagues in Washington, let us forget politics and become statesmen once more like those who built this great land working for the good of it. We have the examples of those who gave so much of themselves. They demand the same thing from their leaders. There once was a dream that our forefathers had, of a strong, free, proud and honorable America. I've allowed this dream to slip away. We've all allowed the land to slip from us. As we rebuild the damage done may we rebuild more, may we rebuild the character of this once proud nation. Let us once again be a people who can have righteous pride. It's time to start afresh and do it a different way. The work at hand starts right now. God bless America!"

The President then walked away from the podium and went straight to the group of Marines. He spontaneously embraced Mike and said simply, "Thank you for the lesson you gave me." He then went down the line and embraced each of the surprised Marines assembled.

The ceremony was done and since protocol had seemed to be thrown out the window rreporters swarmed around Mike and the others. Despite the chaos caused by the scrum and the discomfort of the attention Mike felt the soft touch of Michele's hand in his and knew not only it was well but it would be well. He'd gone through the intersection, both of them had, and they were now on a new and exciting journey together.

"Gunnery Sergeant Nantz, we congratulate you on your recent marriage," a reporter called out. Then he asked, "What are your plans?"

As the camera recorded Mike looked first at Michele, then Hector and grinned. "It's time for a honeymoon. We're going to Disneyland, because it's still standing."

The End

Author's note: thanks for reading! I appreciate all of you who have been along for the journey. I especially appreciate those who have given me encouragement and support over the process of writing this story. A special thanks goes out to TheRazgrizdragon, Kirk-vamp-fan, Badkarma00, Bud89 and Wolf-Angel 25 for their continued positive feedback, input on the story and general encouragement throughout. I couldn't have done it without you. Thanks to all who subscribed to the story, favorited it and trusted me with your precious reading time. I'm humbled by it.

As we go forward, look for your own intersections in life and live the adventure! Life's not defined by what happens to us but by what we do with it.

It's always sad to me when a story is done but then the excitement begins to build for the next one. I'll be taking a short break and then will be back with more adventures. God bless and keep you all.

Yours truly,

Chris


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